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FAITHFUL    FOR    EVER. 


COVENTRY   PATMORE, 

AUTHOR    OF     "the    ANGEL    IN    THE    HOUSE." 


Of  love  that  never  found  his  earthly  close. 
What  sequel  ? 


Tennyson. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR      AND      FIELDS. 

M  DCCC  LXI. 


AUTHOR    S      EDITION. 


Ciinibr'klgc  : 
Printed  by  Welch,  Bigclow,  &  Co. 


F3 


BOOK    I. 
HONORI A 


I. 


FREDERICK   GRAHAM   TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


FREDERICK  GRAHAM  TO  HIS 
MOTHER. 

1\/r OTHER,  I  fmile  at  your  alarms! 
^^^    Againfl    my    Wiltfhire    Coufins' 

charms 
I  'm  fhielded  by  a  prior  fpell. 
The  fever,  love,  as  I  've  heard  tell. 
Like  other  nurfery  maladies, 
Is  never  badly  taken  twice. 
Have  you  forgotten  Charlotte  Hayes, 
My  playmate  in  the  pleafant  days 
At  Knatchley,  and  her  fifter,  Anne; 
The  twins,  fo  made  on  the  fame  plan. 
That  one  wore  blue,  the  other  white, 


8  Honoria. 

To  mark  them  to  their  father's  sight ; 
And  how,  at  Knatchley  harvefting. 
You  bade  me  kifs  her  in  the  ring, 
Like  Anne  and  all  the  others  ?     You, 
That  never  of  my  ficknefs  knew. 
Will  laugh,  yet  had  I  the  difeafe, 
And  gravely,  if  the  figns  are  thefe : 

As,  ere  the  Spring  has  any  power, 
The  almond  branch  all  turns  to  flower. 
Though  not  a  leaf  is  out,  fo  (lie 
The  bloom  of  life  provoked  in  me. 
And,  hard  till  then  and  felhlh,  I 
Was  thenceforth  naught  but  fandlity 
And  fervice  ;  life  was  mere  delight 
In  being  wholly  good  and  right. 
As  file  was  ;  juft,  without  a  flur; 
Honouring  myfelf  no  lefs  than  her; 
Obeying,  in  the  lonelieft  place, 
Ev'n  to  the  flighteft  gefture,  grace, 
Allured  that  one  {^^  fair,  fo  true, 


Frederick  Graham  to  his  Mother.       9 

Somehow  he  ferved  that  was  fo  too. 
For  me,  hence  weak  towards  the  weak, 
No  more  the  unnefted  blackbird's  fhriek 
Startled  the  light-leaved  wood ;  on  high 
Wander'd  the  gadding  butterfly, 
Unfcared  by  my  flung  cap ;  the  bee. 
Rifling  the  hollyhock  in  glee. 
Was  no  more  trapp'd  with  his  own  flower, 
And  for  his  honey  flain.     Her  power, 
From  great  things  even  to  the  grafs 
Through  which  the  unfenced  footways 

pafs. 
Was  law,  and  that  which  keeps  the  law, 
Cherubic  gayety  and  awe  ; 
Day  was  her  doing,  fo  the  lark 
Had  reafon  for  his  fong  ;  the  dark 
In  anagram  innumerous  fpelt 
Her  name  with  ftars  that  throbb'd  and  felt ; 
'T  was  the  fad  fummit  of  delight 
To  wake  and  weep  for  her  at  night ; 


lo  Honor  ia. 

She  turn'd  to  triumph  or  to  Ihame 

The  ilfue  of  eiich  childifli  game  ; 

The  heart  would  come  into  my  throat 

At  rofebuds  ;  howfoe'er  remote, 

In  oppolition  or  confent, 

Each  thing,  or  perfon,  or  event. 

Or  feeming  neutral  howfoe'er. 

All,  in  the  live,  eledric  air. 

Awoke,  took  afpe6t,  and  confelT'd 

In  her  a  centre  of  unreft, 

Yea,  flocks  and  ftones  within  me  bred 

Anxieties  of  joy  and  dread. 

O,  bright,  apocalyptic  fky 
O'erarching  childhood !     Far  and  nigh 
Myftery  and  obfcuration  none, 
Yet  nowhere  any  moon  or  fun! 
What  reafon  for  thefe  fighs  ?    What  hope, 
Daunting  with  its  audacious  fcope 
The  difconcerted  heart,  affe(fls 
Thcfc  ceremonies  and  rcfpedts  ? 


Frederick  Graham  to  his  Mother.     1 1 

Why  ftratagems  in  everything  ? 
Why,  why  not  kifs  her  in  the  ring  ? 
'T  is  nothing  ftrange  that  warriors  bold, 
Whofe  fierce,  forecafling  eyes  behold 
The  city  they  defire  to  fack, 
Humbly  begin  their  proud  attack 
By  delving  ditches  two  miles  off. 
Aware  how  the  fair  place  would  scofF 
At  hafty  wooing  ;  but,  O  child. 
Why  thus  approach  thy  playmate  mild  ! 
One    morning,    when    it    flufh'd    my 
thought 
That  what  in  me  fuch  wonder  wrought 
Was  call'd,  in  men  and  women,  love, 
And,  fick  with  vanity  thereof, 
I,  faying  loud,  "  I  love  her,"  told 
My  fecret  to  myfelf,  behold 
A  crifis  in  my  myftery  ! 
For,  fuddenly,  I  feem'd  to  be 
Whirl'd  round,  and  bound  with  fhowers 
of  threads. 


1 2  Ho?ioria. 

As  when  the  furious  fpider  flieds 

Captivity  upon  the  fly. 

To  ftill  his  buzzing  till  he  die ; 

Only,  with  me,  the  bonds  that  flew. 

Enfolding,    thrill'd     me     through     and 

through 
With  blifs  beyond  aught  heaven  can  have. 
And  pride  to  call  myfelf  her  flave. 

A  long,  green  flip  of  wilder'd  land. 
With  Knatchley  Wood  on  either  hand, 
Sunder'd  our  home  from  hers.    This  day 
Joy  was  mine  as  I  went  that  way. 
I  stretch'd  my  arms  to  the  flcy,  and  fprang 
O'er  the  elafl:ic  fod,  and  fang 
"  I  love  her,  love  her ! "  to  an  air 
Which  with  the  words  came,  then  and 

there ; 
And  even  now,  when  I  would  know 
All  was  not  always  dull  and  low, 
I  whiflilc  a  turn  of  the  fwcet  fl:rain 
Love  taught  me  in  that  lonely  lane. 


Frederick  Graham  to  his  Mother.     1 3 

Such  glories  fade,  with  no  more  mark 
Than  when  the  funfet  turns  to  dark. 
They  die,  the  rapture  and  the  grace 
Ineffable,  nor  leave  a  trace. 
Except  fometimes  (lince  joy  is  joy, 
In  fick  or  fane,  in  man  or  boy) 
A  heart  which,  having  felt  no  lefs 
Than  pure  and  perfect  happinefs. 
Is  duly  dainty  of  delight ; 
A  patient,  poignant  appetite 
For  pleafures  that  exceed  fo  much 
The  poor  things  which  the  world  calls 

fuch. 
That,  when  thefe  tempt  it,  then  you  may 
The  lion  with  a  wifp  of  hay. 

That  Charlotte,  whom  I  fcarcely  knew 
From  Anne  but  by  her  ribbons  blue. 
Was  loved,  Anne  lefs  than  look'd  at,  fhows 
That  liking  ftill  by  favour  goes  ! 
This  Love  is  a  divinity. 


14  Honor  ia. 

And  holds  his  high  eleftion  free 
Of  human  merit ;   or,  let 's  fay, 
A  child  by  ladies  call'd  to  play, 
But  carelefs  of  their  becks  and  wiles, 
Till,  feeing  one  who  fits  and  fmiles 
Like  any  elfe,  yet  only  charms. 
He  cries  to  come  into  her  arms. 
Then,  for  my  Coufins,  fear  me  not ! 
None  ever  loved  becaufe  he  ought. 
Fatal  were  elfe  this  graceful  house. 
So  full  of  light  from  ladies'  brows. 
There  's  Mary  ;  Heaven  in  her  appears 
Like  funlhine  through  the  fliower's  laft 

tears  ; 
Mildred  's  of  Earth,  but  gayer  far 
Than  moft  men's  thoughts  of  Heaven  are; 
But,  for  Honoria,  Heaven  and  Earth 
Seal'd  amity  in  her  fweet  birth. 
The  noble  Girl!     With  whom  she  talks 
She  knights  tirll  with  her  fmile ;  (lie  walks, 


Frederick  Graha?)i  to  his  Mother.     15 

Stands,  dances,  to  fuch  fweet  efFed: 

Alone  fhe  feems  to  go  eredl. 

The  brighteft  and  the  chafteft  brow 

Rules  o'er  a  cheek  which  feems  to  fhow 

That  love,  as  a  mere  vague  fufpenfe 

Of  apprehenfive  innocence. 

Perturbs  her  heart ;  love  without  aim 

Or  objed:,  like  the  holy  flame 

That  in  the  Veftals'  Temple  glow'd, 

Without  the  image  of  a  god. 

And  this  fimplicity  moft  pure 

She  fets  off  with  no  lefs  a  lure 

Of  culture,  nobly  ikill'd  to  raife 

The  power,  the  pride,  and  mutual  praife 

Of  human  perfonality 

Above  the  common  fort  fo  high 

It  makes  fuch  homely  fouls  as  mine 

Wonder  how  brightly  life  may  fhine. 

Ah,  how  you  'd  love  her  !     Even  in  drefs 

She  makes  the  common  mode  exprefs. 


1 6  .  Honor  ia. 

New  knowledge  of  what 's  fit  fo  well 

'T  is  virtue  gayly  vifible  ! 

Nay,  but  her  filken  flifli  to  me 

Were  more  than  all  morality, 

But  that  the  old,  fweet,  feverous  ill 

Has  left  me  mafter  of  my  will. 


II 


MRS.   GRAHAM   TO   FREDERICK. 


MRS.  GRAHAM  TO  FREDERICK. 

A  >TY  deareft  Child,  Honoria  fways 

A  double  power,  through  Char- 
lotte Hayes ! 
In  minds  to  firft-love's  memory  pledged 
The  fecond  Cupid's  born  full-fledged. 
The  Churchills  came,  laft  Spring,  to  Spa, 
And  ftay'd  with  me  a  week.     I  faw. 
And  own  I  trembled  for  the  day 
When  you  fhould  fee  that  beauty,  gay 
And  pure  as  apple-blooms,  that  (how 
Outfide  a  bluih  and  inlide  fnow ; 
That  high  and  touching  elegance 
Which  even  your  raptures  fcarce  enhance. 


20  Honor  ia. 

Ah,  hafte  from  her  enchanting  fide  ! 
No  friend  for  you,  far  lefs  a  bride. 
But,  warning  from  a  hope  fo  wild, 
I  wrong  you.     Yet  this  know,  my  child  : 
He  that  but  lends  his  heart  to  hear 
The  mufic  of  a  foreign  fphere, 
Is  thenceforth  lonely,  and  for  all 
His  days  like  one  who  treads  the  Wall 
Of  China,  and  on  this  hand  fees 
Cities  and  their  civilities. 
And  on  the  other  lions.     Well, 
(Your  ralh  reply  I  thus  foretell,) 
Good  is  the  knowledge  of  what 's  fair. 
Though  bought  with  temporal  defpair. 
Yes,  good  for  one,  but  not  for  two ! 
Will  it  content  your  wife  that  you 
Should  pine  for  love,  in  love's  embrace, 
Becaufc  you  've  known  a  prouder  grace ; 
Difturb  with  inward  fighs  your  reft, 
Becaufe,  though  good,  (lie 's  not  the  beft ; 


Mrs.  Graham  to  Frederick.         21 

Her  acSts  of  fondnefs  almoft  iliun, 
Becaufe  they  are  handfomer  meant  than 

done  ? 
You  would,  you  think,  be  juft  and  kind. 
And  keep  your  counfel !     You  will  find 
You  cannot  fuch  a  fecret  keep. 
'T  will  out,  like  murder,  in  your  fleep ; 
A  touch  will  tell  it,  though,  for  pride. 
She  may  her  bitter  knowledge  hide ; 
And,    whilft    (he    accepts    love's    make- 
believe. 
You'll  twice  defpife  what  you'd  deceive. 

For  your  fake  I  am  glad  to  hear 
You  fail  fo  foon.     I  fend  you,  dear, 
A  trifling  prefent ;  't  will  fupply 
Your  Salifbury  cofts.     You  have  to  buy 
Almoft  an  outfit  for  this  cruife  ! 
But  many  are  good  enough  to  ufe 
Again,  among  the  things  you  fend 
To  give  away.     My  maid  fhall  mend 


2  2  Hofioria. 

And  let  vou  have  them  back.     Adieu ! 
Tell  me  of  all  you  are  and  do. 
I  know,  thank  God,  whate'er  it  be, 
'T  will  need  no  veil  'twixt  you  and  me. 


III. 


FREDERICK   TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

^  I  ^HE  multitude  of  voices  blythe 

Of  early  day,  the  hiffing  fcythe 
Athwart  the  dew  drawn  and  withdrawn, 
The  noify  peacock  on  the  lawn, 
Thefe,  and  the  fun's  eye-gladding  gleam. 
This  morning,  chafed  the  fweetefl  dream 
That  e'er  fhed  penitential  grace 
On  life's  forgetful  commonplace  ; 
Yet  't  was  no  fweeter  than  the  fpell 
To  which  I  woke  to  fay  farewell. 

Noon  finds  me  ninety  miles  removed 
From  her  who  mult  not  be  beloved  ; 
And  us  the  whole  fea  foon  fliall  part. 


26  Ho?ioria. 

Heaving  for  aye  without  a  heart ! 
But  why,  dear  mother,  warn  nie  lb  r 
I  love  Mils  Churchill  ?     Ah,  no,  no ! 
I  view,  enchanted,  from  afar. 
And  love  her  as  I  love  a  flar. 
For,  not  to  fpeak  of  colder  fear. 
Which  keeps  my  fancy  calm,  I  hear. 
Under  her  life's  gay  progrefs  hurl'd, 
The  wheels  of  the  preponderant  world. 
Set  iliarp  with  fwords  that  fool  to  Hay 
Who  blunders  from  a  poor  byway. 
To  covet  beauty  with  a  crown 
Of  earthly  blefhng  added  on  ; 
And  file  's  fo  much,  it  feems  to  me. 
Beyond  all  women  womanly, 
I  dread  to  think  how  he  fliould  fare 
Who  came  lb  near  as  to  defpair. 

No  more  of  this  !  Dear  mother,  pleafe 
To  fend  my  books  to  Plymouth.  Thefe, 
When  I  go  hence,  fliall  turn  all  hours 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  27 

To  profit,  and  amend  my  powers. 
I  've  time  on  board  to  fill  my  poft, 
And  yet  make  up  iov  fchooling  loft 
Through  young  fea-fervice.      They   all 

fpeak 
German   and   French ;    and   thefe,   with 

Greek, 
Which  Dodlor  Churchill  thought  I  knew. 
And  Hiftory,  which  I'm  ill  in  too, 
Will  ftop  a  gap  I  fomewhat  dread. 
After  the  happy  life  I  've  led 
Among  my  coufins ;  and  't  will  be 
To  abridge  the  fpace  from  them  to  me. 

Yonder  the  fullen  vefiel  rides 
Where  my  obfcure  condition  hides. 
Waves  feud  to  ihore  againft  the  wind. 
That  flings  the  fprinkling  furf  behind  ; 
In  port  the  bickering  pennons  fhow 
Which  way  the  fhips  would  gladly  go ; 
Through  Edgecumbe  Park  the  rooted  trees 


28  Honor  ia. 

Are  tofling,  recklefs,  in  the  breeze ; 
On  top  of  Edgecumbe's  firm-fet  tower, 
As  foils,  not  foibles,  of  its  power. 
The  light  vanes  do  themfelves  adjuft 
To  every  veering  of  the  guft  : 
By  me  alone  may  naught  be  given 
To  guidance  of  the  airs  of  heaven  ? 
In  battle  or  peace,  in  calm  or  ftorm. 
Should  I  my  daily  tafk  perform, 
(Better  a  thoufand  times  for  love,) 
Who  {liould  my  fecret  foul  reprove  ! 

Mother,  I  've  ftriven  to  conceal, 
Yes,  from  myfelf,  how  much  I  feel ; 
In  vain.     With  tears  my  fight  is  dull, 
My  coufm  makes  my  heart  fo  full. 
Her  happy  beauty  makes  a  man 
Long  to  lay  down  his  life  !     How  can 
Aught  to  itfelf  feem  thus  enough, 
When  I  have  fo  much  need  thereof! 
Bleft  is  her  place  !  blifsful  is  (lie  ; 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  29 

And  I,  departing,  feem  to  be 
Like  the  ftrange  waif  that  comes  to  run 
A  few  days  flaming  near  the  fun, 
And  carries  back,  through  boundlefs  night, 
Its  lefTening  memory  of  light. 
O,  my  dear  mother  !  ♦  I  confefs 
To  a  weak  grief  of  homeleflhefs, 
Unfelt,  fave  once,  before.     'T  is  years 
Since  fuch  a  fhower  of  girhfh  tears 
Difgraced  me  !     But  this  wretched  Inn, 
At  Plymouth,  is  fo  full  of  din, 
Talkings  and  trampings  to  and  fro. 
And  then  my  fhip,  to  which  I  go 
To-night,  is  no  more  home.     I  dread. 
As  flrange,  the  life  I  long  have  led  ; 
And  as,  when  firfl:  I  went  to  fchool. 
And  found  the  horror  of  a  rule. 
Which  only  afk'd  to  be  obey'd, 
I  lay  and  wept,  of  dawn  afraid. 
And  thought,  with  burfting  heart,  of  one 


30  Honor  ia. 

Who,  from  her  Httle,  wayward  fon. 

Required  obedience,  but  above 

Obedience  ftill  regarded  love, 

So  change  I  that  enchanting  place. 

The  abode  of  innocence  and  grace 

And  gayety  without*  reproof, 

For  the  black  gun-deck's  lowering  roof. 

Blind  and  inevitable  law. 

Which  makes  light  duties  burdens,  awe 

Which  is  not  reverence,  laughters  gain'd 

At  coft  of  purities  profaned. 

And  whatfoever  moft  may  ftir 

Remorfeful  paliion  towards  her. 

Whom  to  behold  is  to  depart 

From  all  defeat  of  life  and  heart. 

By  her  inftru(5ted  what  may  be 
rhe  joy  of  true  fociety. 
Frightful  is  folitude;  yet  'tis. 
Compared  with  fuch  infeftment,  blifs. 

But,  mother,  I  shall  go  on  shore, 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  31 

And  fee  my  Coufin  yet  once  more  ! 

'T  were  wild  to  hope  for  her,  you  fay  ? 

I  've  torn  and  caft  thofe  words  away. 

Surely  there 's  hope  !     For  life  't  is  well 

Love  without  hope's  impoffible  ; 

So,  if  I  love,  it  is  that  hope 

Is  not  outfide  the  outer  fcope 

Of  fancy.     You  fpeak  truth  :  this  hour, 

I  muft  relift,  or  lofe  the  power. 

What !  and,  when  fome  short  months  are 

o'er. 
Be  ncft  much  other  than  before  ? 
Decline  the  high,  harmonious  fphere 
In  which  I  'm  held,  but  while  fhe's  dear  ? 
In  unrefpediive  peace  forget 
Thofe  eyes  for  which  my  own  are  wet 
With  that  delicious,  fruitful  dew 
Which,  check'd,  will  never  flow  anew .? 
For  daily  life's  dull,  fenfelefs  mood. 
Slay  the  fharp  nerves  of  gratitude. 


3  2  Honor  ia. 

And  fweet  allegiance,  which  I  owe. 
Whether  she  cares  for  me  or  no  ? 
Nay,  Mother,  I,  forewarn'd,  prefer 
To  want  for  all  in  wanting  her. 

For  all  ?     Love's  beft  is  not  bereft 
Ever  from  him  to  w^hom  is  left 
The  truft  that  God  will  not  deceive 
His  creature,  fafliion'd  to  believe 
The  prophecies  of  pure  defire. 
Not  lofs,  not  death,  my  love  shall  tire. 
A  myftery  does  my  heart  foretell ; 
Nor  do  I  prefs  the  oracle  • 

For  explanations.     Leave  me  alone, 
And  let  in  mc  love's  will  be  done. 


IV. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

T^ASHION'D  by  Heaven  and  by  art 
So  is  (he,  that  flie  makes  the  heart 
Ache  and  o'erflow  with  tears,  that  grace 
So  wonderful  fhould  have  for  place 
The  unworthy  earth !     To  fee  her  fmile, 
As  ignorant  of  her  hap  the  while, 
And  walk  this  howling  wafte  of  fin. 
As  only  knowing  the  heaven  within. 
Is  fweet,  and  does  for  pity  ftir 
Paffion  to  be  her  minifter ; 
Wherefore  laft  night  I  lay  awake. 
And  faid,  "  Ah,  Lord !  for  thy  love's  fake. 
Give  not  this  darling  child  of  thine 


36  Honor  ia. 

To  care  lefs  reverent  than  mine ! " 
And,  as  true  faith  was  in  my  word, 
I  trult,  I  truft  that  I  was  heard. 

The  waves,  this  morning,  fped  to  land. 
And  (liouted  hoarfe  to  touch  the  ftrand. 
Where  Spring,  that  goes  not  out  to  fea, 
Lay  laughing  in  her  lovely  glee  ; 
And,  fo,  my  life  was  funlit  fpray 
And  tumult,  as,  once  more  to-day, 
For  long  farewell  did  I  draw  near 
My  Coufm  defperately  dear. 
Faint,  fierce,   the   truth    that    hope   was 

none 
Gleam'd  like  the  lightning  in  the  fun  ; 
Yet,  hope  I  had,  and  joy  thereof! 
The  father  of  love  is  hope,  (though  love 
Lives  orphan'd  on,  when  hope  is  dead,) 
And,  out  of  my  immediate  dread 
And  crifis  of  the  coming  hour. 
Did  hope  itfelf  draw  fudden  power. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  37 

So  the  hot-brooding  ftorm,  in  Spring, 
Makes  all  the  birds  begin  to  fing. 

Mother,  your  forefight  did  not  err : 
I've  loft  the  world,  and  not  won  her. 
And  yet,  ah,  laugh  not,  when  you  think 
What  cup  of  life  I  fought  to  drink  ! 
The  bold,  faid  I,  have  climb'd  to  blifs 
Abfurd,  impoffible,  as  this. 
With  naught  to  help  them  but  fo  great 
A  heart  it  fafcinates  their  fate. 
If  ever  Heaven  back'd  man's  delire. 
Mine,  being  fmirchlefs  altar-fire, 
Muft  come  to  pafs,  and  it  will  be 
That  llie  will  wait,  when  flie  fliall  fee. 
This  evening,  how  I  go  to  get 
By  means  unknown  I  know  not  yet 
Quite  what,  but  ground  whereon  to  ftand. 
And  plead  more  plainly  for  her  hand  ! 

While  thus  I  raved,  and  caft  in  hope 
A  fuperftitious  horofcope. 


38  Honor  ia. 

I  reach'd  the  Dean's.     The  woman  faid, 
"  Mifs  Churchill's  out."    "  Had  (he  been 

dead," 
I  cried,  "  't  were  much  the  fame  to  me, 
Who  go,  this  very  night,  to  fea." 
"  Nay,  fir,  flie  's  only  gone  to  prayer ; 
And  here  Ihe  comes,  acrofs  the  Square." 
(O,  but  to  be  the  unbanifhed  fod 
She  daily  treads,  all  bright  from  God !) 

And  now,  though  fomething  in  her  face 
Portended  "  No  !  "  with  fuch  a  grace 
It  burthen'd  me  with  thankfulnefs. 
Nothing  was  credible  but  "  Yes !  " 
Therefore,  through  time's  clofe  prefTure 

bold, 
I  praifed  niyfelf,  and  boaftful  told 
My  deeds  at  Acre,  ftrained  the  chance 
I  had  of  honour  and  advance 
In  war  to  come ;  and  would  not  fee 
Sad  filencc  meant  "What's  this  to  me!" 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  39 

When  half  my  precious  hour  was  gone. 
She  rofe  to  greet  a  Mr.  Vaughan ; 
And,  as  the  image  of  the  moon 
Breaks  up,  within  fome  ftill  lagoon 
That  feels  the  foft  wind  fuddenly, 
Or  tide  frefli  flowing  from  the  fea, 
And  turns  to  giddy  flames  that  go 
Over  the  water  to  and  fro. 
Thus,  when  he  took  her  hand  to-night, 
Her  lovely  gravity  of  light 
Was  fcattered  into  many  fmiles 
And  flattering  weaknefs.     Hope  beguiles 
No  more  my  heart,  dear  Mother.     He, 
By  jealous  looks,  o'erhonour'd  me  ! 

With  naught  to  do,  and  fondly  fain 
To  hear  her  flnging  once  again, 
I  fl:ay'd,  and  turn'd  her  mufic  o'er ; 
Then  came  flie  with  me  to  the  door. 
"  Deareft  Honoria,"  I  faid, 
(By  my  defpair  familiar  made,) 


40  Hojioria. 

"  Heaven  blefs  you  !  "     O,  to  have  back 

then  ftepp'd, 
And  fall'n  upon  her  neck,  and  wept, 
And  faid,  "  My  friend,  I  owe  you  all 
I  am,  and  have,  and  hope  for.     Call 
For  fome  poor  fervice ;   let  me  prove 
To  you,  or  him  here  whom  you  love. 
My  duty.     Any  folemn  talk, 
For  life's  whole  courfe,  is  all  I  afk !  " 
Then  flie  muft  furely  have  wept  too. 
And    faid,    "  My   friend,   what   can    you 

do  ?  " 
And  I  iliould  have  replied,  "  I  '11  pray 
For  you  and  him  three  times  a  day, 
And,  all  day,  morning,  noon,  and  night. 
My  Jife  fliall  be  fo  high  and  right 
That  never  Saint  yet  fcaled  the  ftairs 
Of  heaven  with  more  availing  prayers!" 
But  this,  (and,  as  good  God  fliall  blefs 
Somehow  my  end,  I  '11  do  no  less,) 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  41 

I  had  no  right  to  fpeak.     Oh,  Ihame, 
So  rich  a  love,  fo  poor  a  claim ! 

My  Mother,  now  my  only  friend, 
Farewell.     The  fchool-books  which  you 

fend 
I  fhall  not  want,  and  fo  return. 
Give  them  away,  or  fell,  or  burn. 
Addrefs  to  Malta.     Would  I  might 
But  be  your  little  Child  to-night. 
And  feel  your  arms  about  me  fold, 
Againft  this  lonelinefs  and  cold  ! 


V. 


MRS.   GRAHAM  TO  FREDERICK. 


MRS.  GRAHAM  TO  FREDERICK. 

1\  /T  Y  own  dear  Child,  Honoria's  choice 

Shows  what  fhe  is,  and  I  rejoice 
You  did  not  win  her.     Felix  Vaughan 
Preferr'd  to  you  ?     My  faith  is  gone 
In  her  line  fenfe  !     And,  thus,  you  fee 
You  were  too  good  for  her !     Ah,  me. 
The  folly  of  thefe  girls  :   they  doff 
Their  pride  to  fleek  fuccefs,  and  feoff 
At  far  more  noble  fire  and  might 
That  woo  them  from  the  duft  of  fight  ! 

But  now.  Dear,  lince  the  ftorm  is  pafl. 
Your  fky  fliould  not  remain  o'ercaft. 
A  fea  life's  dull,  and,  fo,  beware 


46  Ho?io?'ia. 

Of  noLirilhing,  for  zeft,  defpair. 
Remember,  Frederick,  this  makes  twice 
You  've  been  in  love ;  then  why  not  thrice, 
Or  ten  times  ?     But  a  wife  man  lliuns 
To  fay  "All's  over"  more  than  once. 
Religion,  duty,  books,  work,  friends, 
Are  anodynes,  if  not  amends. 
I  'II  not  urge  that  a  young  man's  foul 
Is  fcarce  the  meafure  of  the  whole 
Earthly  and  heavenly  univerfe, 
To  which  he  inveterately  prefers 
The  one  beloved  woman.      Beft 
Speak  to  the  fenfes'  intereft. 
Which  brooks  no  myflery  nor  delay : 
Frankly  refled:,  my  Son,  and  fay. 
Was  there  no  fecret  hour,  of  thofe 
PafT'd  at  her  fide  in  Sarum  Clofe, 
When,  to  your  fpirit's  fick  alarm. 
It  feem'd  that  all  her  marvellous  charm 
Was  marvelloufly  fled  ?     The  caufe 


Mrs.  Graha?ji  to  Frederick.         47 

'T  is  like  you  fought  not.     This  it  was  : 
It  happen'd,  for  that  hour,  her  grace 
Of  voice,  adornment,  pofture,  face 
Was  what  already  heart  and  eye 
Had  ponder'd  to  fatiety ; 
And  fo  the  good  of  life  was  o'er. 
Until  fome  laugh  not  heard  before. 
Some  novel  fafliion  in  her  hair. 
Or  ftyle  of  putting  back  her  chair, 
Reftored  the  heavens.     Gather  thence 
The  lofs-confoling  inference  ! 

I  blame  not  beauty.      It  beguiles. 
With  lovely  motions  and  fweet  fmiles. 
Which  while  they  pleafe  us  pafs  away, 
The  fpirit  to  lofty  thoughts  that  ftay. 
And  lift  the  whole  of  after-life, 
Unlefs  you  take  the  thing  to  wife. 
Which  then  feems  naught,  or  ferves  to 

flake 
Defire,  as  when  a  lovely  lake 


48  Honor  ia. 

Far  ofi"  fcarce  fills  the  exulting  eye 
Of  one  athirlt,  who  comes  thereby, 
And  inappreciably  lips 
The  deep,  with  disappointed  lips. 
To  fail  is  forrow,  yet  confefs 
That  love  pays  dearly  for  fuccefs  ! 
I  blame  not  beauty,  but  complain 
Of  the  heart,  which  can  {<.)  ill  fuftain 
Delight.     Our  griefs  declare  our  Fall, 
But  how  much  more  our  joys  !    They  pall 
With  plucking,  and  celeftial  mirth 
Can  find  no  footing  on  the  earth. 
More  than  the  bird  of  paradife, 
Which  only  lives  the  while  it  files. 

Think,   alfo,    how    't  would   fuit   your 
pride 
To  have  this  woman  for  a  bride. 
Whate'cr  her  faults,  Ihe's  one  of  thofe 
To  whom  tJic  world's  laft  polifli  owes 
A  further  grace,  which  all  \N'ho  afpire 


Mrs.  Graham  to  Frederick.         49 

To  courtlieft  cuftom  muft  acquire. 
The  world 's  her  duty  and  her  fphere ; 
But  you  have  ftill  been  lonely,  Dear. 
(Oh,  law  perverfe,  that  lonelinefs 
Breeds  love,  fociety  fuccefs !) 
Though  young,  'twere  now  o'er  late  in 

life 
To  train  yourfelf  for  fuch  a  wife  ; 
So  fhe  would  fit  herfelf  to  you. 
As  women,  when  they  marry,  do. 
For,  fmce  't  is  for  their  dignity 
Their  lords  fliould  fit  like  lords  on  high. 
They  willingly  deteriorate 
To  a  ftep  below  their  rulers'  ftate ; 
And  't  is  the  commoneft  of  things 
To  fee  an  angel,  gay  with  wings. 
Lean  weakly  on  a  mortal's  arm ! 
Honoria  would  put  off  the  charm 
Of  cultured  grace  that  caught  your  love. 
For  fear  you  Ihould  not  feem  above 
4 


50  Hojioria. 

Herfelf  in  fliiliion  and  degree, 
As  in  true  merit.     Thus,  you  fee, 
'T  were  little  kindnels,  wil'dom  none. 
To  light  your  barn  with  fuch  a  fun. 


VI. 


FREDERICK   TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

T~AEAR  Mother,  do  not  write  her  name 
With  the  leaft  word  or  hint  of  blame. 
Who  elfe  fhall  difcommend  her  choice, 
I  giving  it  my  hearty  voice  ? 
She  marry  me  ?     I  loved  too  well 
To  think  it  good  or  poffible. 
Ah,  never  near  her  beauties  come 
The  buiinefs  of  the  narrow  home ! 
Far  fly  from  her  dear  face,  that  fhows 
The  funfliine  lovelier  than  the  rofe. 
The  fordid  gravity  they  wear 
Who  poverty's  bafe  burthen  bear ! 
(And  they  are  poor  who  comef  to  mifs 


54  HoTioria. 

Their  cuftom,  though  a  crown  be  this.) 

My  hope  was,  that  the  wheels  of  fate, 

For  my  exceeding  need,  might  wait, 

And  Ihe,  unfeen  amidll:  all  eyes. 

Move  lightlef^,  till  I  fought  the  prize, 

With  honour,  in  an  equal  field. 

But  then  came  Vaughan,  to  whom  I  yield 

With  ffrace  as  much  as  any  man. 

In  such  caufe,  to  another  can. 

Had  Ihe  been  mine,  it  feems  to  me 

That  I  had  that  integrity 

And  only  joy  in  her  delight  — 

But  each  is  his  own  favourite 

In  love  !     The  thought  to  bring  me  reft 

Is  that  of  us  (he  takes  the  beft. 

'T  was  but  to  fee  him  to  be  fure 
That  choice  for  her  remain'd  no  more  ! 
His  brow,  fo  gayly  clear  of  craft ; 
His  wit,  the  timely  trutli  that  laugh'd 
To  find  itlcH  fo  well  exprell 'd  ; 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  ^^ 

His  words,  abundant  yet  the  best ; 
His  fpirit,  of  fuch  handfome  fhow 
You  law  not  that  his  looks  were  fo  ; 
His  bearing,  profpedts,  birth,  all  thefe 
Might  well,  with  fmall  fuit,  greatly  pleafe ; 
How  greatly,  when  fhe  faw  arife 
The  reflex  fweetnefs  of  her  eyes 
In  his,  and  every  breath  defer 
Humbly  its  bated  life  to  her  ; 
Whilft  power  and  kindnefs  of  command. 
Which  women  can  no  more  withftand 
Than  we  their  grace,  were  ftill  unquell'd. 
And  force  and  flattery  both  compell'd 
Her  foftnefs  !     Say  I  'm  worthy.     I 
Grew,  in  her  prefence,  cold  and  fhy. 
It  awed  me,  as  an  angel's  might 
In  raiment  of  reproachful  light. 
Her  gay  looks  told  my  fombre  mood 
That  what 's  not  happy  is  not  good  ; 
And,  jufl;  becaufe  't  was  life  to  pleafe, 


56  Honor  ia. 

Death  to  repel  her,  truth  and  eafe 
Deferted  me  ;   I  flrove  to  talk. 
And  ftammered  fooliflinefs  ;  my  walk 
Was  like  a  drunkard's  ;   once  (lie  took 
My  arm  ;  it  ftiffen'd,  ached,  and  lliook  ; 
I  guelT'd   her  thought,  and   could   have 

dropp'd  ; 
The  ftreams  of  life  within  me  ftopp'd. 
A  likely  wooer  !     Blame  her  not ; 
Nor  ever  fay,  dear  Mother,  aught 
Againft  that  perfed:nefs  which  is 
My  ftrength,  as  once  it  was  my  blifs. 

Nor  let  us  chafe  at  focial  rules. 
Leave  that  to  poets  and  to  fools. 
Clay  graffs  and  clods  conceive  the  rofe. 
So  bafc  ftill  fathers  beft.     Life  owes 
Itfclf  to  bread  ;   enough  thereof 
And  eafy  days  condition  love  ; 
And,  highly  train'd,  love's  rofes  thrive, 
No  more  pale,  fccntlefs  petals  five, 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  ^j 

Which  moiften  the  confiderate  eye 
To  fee  what  hafte  they  make  to  die. 
But  heavens  of  brightnefs  and  perfume. 
Which,  month  by  month,  renew  the  bloom 
Of  art-born  graces,  when  the  year 
In  all  the  natural  grove  is  fere. 

Thank  God,  I  partly  can  defcry 
The  meaning  of  humanity  ! 
In  fight  of  him  who  fees  it  float 
As  many  an  ifolated  mote 
In  accidental  light  or  dark. 
And  wants  the  inftrudted  fenfe  to  mark 
Its  method,  and  the  ear  to  hear 
The  moving  mufic  of  its  fphere. 
What  wonder  if  his  private  lofs 
Seems  an  intolerable  crofs. 
Not  to  be  fufFer'd,  in  mere  awe 
Of  what  he  calls  the  world's  cold  law  ? 
But  he  who  once,  with  joy  of  foul, 
Has  had  the  vifion  of  the  whole, 


58  Honoria. 

Though  to  the  wringing  of  his  heart, 
Will  never  more  prefer  the  part. 
Blame  none,  then  !     Bright  let  he  the  air 
About  mv  lonelv  cloud  of  care. 

"  Religion,  duty,  books,  work,  friends :  " 
'T  is  good  advice,  but  there  it  ends. 
I  'm  fick  for  what  they  have  not  got. 
Send  no  more  books  ;  they  help  me  not. 
I  'm  hurt,  and  find  no  filve  for  that 
In  gofpels  of  the  cricket-bat 
Or  anvil  ;   and,  for  zoophytes. 
And  alga:",  and  Italian  rights, 
Myfelf  and  every  foul  I  fee 
Are  nearer,  dearer  myftery, 
And  fubjed:  to  my  proper  will. 
To  fome  extent,  for  good  or  ill. 
And,  as  for  work.  Mother,  I  find 
The  lite  t)l  man  is  in  his  mind, 
(Though,    truft    the    ftrains    the    fafliion 
ftrums. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  59 

It  feems  't  is  rather  in  his  thumbs !) 

To  work  is  well,  nay,  labour  is, 

They  fay,  the  bread  of  fouls.     If  't  is, 

We  do  not  worfliip  corn  and  yeaft ; 

Indeed,  they  fcarcely  make  a  feaft  ! 

Bread's  needful,  but  the  rule  ftands  fo 

That  needful  moft  is  oft  mofl:  low. 

I  ad:  my  calling,  yet  there 's  ftill 

A  void  which  duty  cannot  fill. 

What  though  the  inaugural  hour  of  right 

Comes  ever  with  a  keen  delight ! 

Little  relieves  the  labour's  heat. 

Or  crowns  the  labour  when  complete  ; 

And  life,  in  fad,  is  not  lefs  dull 

For  being  very  dutiful. 

"  The  flately  homes  of  England,"  lo, 

"  How  beautiful  they  ftand  !  "    They  owe 

How  much  to  me  and  fuch  as  me 

Their  beauty  of  fecurity ! 

But  who  can  long  a  low  work  mend 


6o  Honor  ia. 

By  looking  to  a  lofty  end  ? 
And  let  me,  fince  't  is  truth,  confefs 
The  want's  not  tilled  by  godlinefs. 
God  is  a  tower  without  a  ftair. 
And  His  perfe(5tion  love's  defpair. 
'T  is  he  fliall  judge  me  when  I  die  ; 
He  fuckles  with  the  hiffing  fly 
The  fpider ;  gazes  patient  down, 
Whilft  rapine  grips  the  helplefs  town. 
His  vaft  love  holds  all  this  and  more. 
In  confternation  I  adore  ! 
Nor  can  I  eafe  this  aching  gulf 
With  friends,  the  pictures  of  myfelf. 

Then  marvel  not  that  I  recur 
From  each  and  all  of  thefe  to  her. 
For  more  of  heaven  than  her  have  I 
No  fenfitive  capacity. 
Had  I  but  her,  ah,  what  the  gain 
Of  owning  aught  but  that  domain  ! 
Nay,  heaven's  extent,  however  much, 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  6i 

Cannot  be  more  than  many  fuch  ; 
And,  fhe  being  mine,  fhould  God  to  me 
Say,  "  Lo !  my  Child,  I  give  to  thee 
All  heaven  befides,"  what  could  I  then, 
But,  as  a  child,  to  Him  complain 
That,  whereas  my  dear  Father  gave 
A  little  fpace  for  me  to  have 
In  his  great  garden,  now,  o'erbleft, 
I  've  that,  indeed,  but  all  the  reft. 
Which,  fomehow,  makes  it  feem  I  've  got 
All  but  my  only  cared-for  plot. 
Enough  was  that  for  my  weak  hand 
To  tend,  my  heart  to  underftand. 

Oh,  the  fick  thought,  'twixt  her  and  me 
There 's  nothing,  and  the  weary  fea  ! 


VII. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

IVyT  OTHER,  in  fcarcely  two  hours  more 

I  fet  my  foot  on  Englifh  fhore, 
Two  years  untrod  !  and,  ftrange  to  tell. 
Nigh  mifT'd,  through  laft  night's  ftorm. 

There  fell 
A  man  from  the  fhrouds,  that  roar'd  to 

quench 
Even  the  billows'  blaft  and  drench. 
None  elfe  but  me  was  by  to  mark 
His  loud  cry  in  the  louder  dark, 
Dark,  fave  when   lightning  Ihow'd  the 

deeps 
Standing  about  in  ftony  heaps. 
5 


66  HoTioria. 

No  time  for  choice  !     A  fortunate  flafli 
Flamed  as  he  rofe  ;  a  dizzy  fplafli, 
A  ftrange,  inopportune  delight 
Of  mounting  with  the  billowy  might, 
And  falling,  with  a  thrill  again 
Of  pleafure  (hot  from  feet  to  brain, 
And  both  paced  deck,  ere  any  knew 
Our  peril.     Round  us  prefT'd  the  crew. 
"Your  duty  was  to  let  him  drown," 
The  Captain  faid,  and  feign'd  a  frown  ; 
But  wonder  fill'd  the  eyes  of  moft. 
As  if  the  man  who  had  loved  and  loft 
Honoria  dared  no  more  than  that ! 

My  days  have  elfe  been  ftale  and  flat. 
This  life's,  at  beft,  if  juftly  fcann'd, 
A  tedious  walk  by  the  other's  ftrand. 
With,  here  and  there  caft  up,  a  piece 
Of  coral  or  of  ambergris. 
Which  boafted  of  abroad,  we  ignore 
The  burthen  of  the  barren  (liore. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  67 

Often  might  I  my  letters  fill 

With  how  the  nerves  refufe  to  thrill  ; 

How,  throughout  doubly-darken'd  days, 

I  cannot  recoiled:  her  face  ; 

How  to  my  heart  her  name  to  tell 

Is  beating  on  a  broken  bell ; 

And,  to  fill  up  the  abhorrent  gulf. 

Scarce  loving  her,  I  hate  myfelf. 

Yet,  latterly,  with  ftrange  delight. 
Rich  tides  have  rifen  in  the  night, 
And  fweet  dreams  chafed  the  fancies  denfe 
Of  waking  life's  dull  fomnolence. 
I  fee  her  as  I  knew  her,  grace 
Already  glory  in  her  face ; 
I  move  about,  I  cannot  reft. 
For  the  proud  brain  and  joyful  breaft 
I  have  of  her.     Or  elfe  I  float 
The  pilot  of  an  idle  boat. 
Alone  with  fun,  and  fky,  and  fea. 
And  her,  the  fourth  fimplicity. 


68  Honor  i a. 

Or  Mildred,  to  fome  queftion,  cries, 
(Her  merry  mifchief  in  her  eyes,) 
"  The  Ball,  oh,  Frederick  will  go  ; 
Honoria  will  be  there !  "  and,  lo. 
As  moijfture  fweet  my  feeing  blurs 
To  hear  my  name  fo  link'd  with  hers, 
A  mirror  joins,  by  guilty  chance, 
Either's  averted,  watchful  glance  ! 
Or  with  me,  in  the  Ball-Room's  blaze. 
Her  brilliant  mildnefs  thrids  the  maze  ; 
Our  thoughts  are  lovely,  and  each  word 
Is  mufic  in  the  mulic  heard. 
And  all  things  feem  but  parts  to  be 
Of  one  perfiftent  harmony. 
By  which  I  'm  made  divinely  bold ; 
The  fecret,  which  ilie  knows,  is  told  ; 
And,  laughing  with  a  lofty  blifs 
Of  innocent  accord,  we  kifs  ; 
About  her  neck  my  pleafure  weeps ; 
Againfl:  my  lip  the  filk  vein  leaps; 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  69 

Then  fays  an  Angel,  "  Day  or  night, 
If  yours  you  feek,  not  her  delight, 
Although  by  fome  ftrange  witchery 
It  feems  you  kifs  her,  't  is  not  (he ; 
But  whilft  you  languifh  at  the  fide 
Of  a  fair-foul  phantafmal  bride. 
Surely  a  dragon  and  ftrong  tower 
Guard  the  true  lady  in  her  bower." 
And  I  fay,  "  Dear  my  Lord,  Amen !  " 
And  the  true  lady  kifs  again. 
Or  elfe  fome  wafteful  malady 
Devours  her  fhape  and  dims  her  eye ; 
No  charms  are  left,  where  all  were  rife, 
Except  her  voice,  which  is  her  life. 
Wherewith  flie,  for  her  foolifh  fear. 
Says  trembling,  "  Do  you  love  me.  Dear  ? " 
And  I  reply,  "Ah,  Sweet,  I  vow 
I  never  loved  but  half  till  now." 
She  turns  her  face  to  the  wall  at  this. 
And  fays,  "  Go,  Love,  't  is  too  much  blifs." 


70  Honoria. 

And  then  a  fudden  pulfe  is  fent 
About  the  founding  firmament 
In  fmitings  as  of  filver  bars  ; 
The  bright  diforder  of  the  ftars 
Is  folved  by  mufic ;  far  and  near. 
Through  infinite  diftindtions  clear, 
Their  two-fold  voices'  deeper  tone 
Thunders    the   Name  which   all   things 

own, 
And  each  ecftatic  treble  dwells 
On  one  whereof  none  other  tells ; 
And  we,  fublimed  to  fong  and  fire. 
Take  order  in  the  wheeling  quire. 
Till  from  the  throbbing  fphere  I  ftart. 
Waked  by  the  beating  of  my  heart. 
Such  dreams  as  thefe  come  night  by 

night, 
Difturbing  day  with  their  delight. 
Portend  they  nothing  ?     Who  can  tell  ! 
God  yet  may  do  fome  miracle. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  ji 

'Tis  now  two  years,  and  fhe's  not  wed, 
Or  you  would  know !     He  may  be  dead. 
Or  mad  and  wooing  fome  one  elfe. 
And  file,  much  moved  that  nothing  quells 
My  conftancy,  or,  merely  wroth 
With  fuch  a  wretch,  accept  my  troth 
To  fpite  him ;  or  her  beauty 's  gone, 
(And   that 's  my  dream  !)   and  this  vile 

Vaughan 
Takes  her  releafe  ;  or  tongues  malign. 
Convincing  all  men's  ears  but  mine. 
Have  fmirch'd  her  :   ah,  't  would  move 

her,  fure. 
To  find  I  only  worfhipp'd  more  ! 
Nay,  now  I  think,  haply  amifs 
I  read  her  words  and  looks,  and  his. 
That  night !     Did  not  his  jealoufy 
Show  —  Good  my  God,  and  can  it  be 
That  I,  a  modefl  fool,  all  bleft. 
Nothing  of  fuch  a  heaven  gueff'd  ? 


72  Honor  ia. 

Oh,  cnance  too  frail,  yet  frantic  fweet. 
To-morrow  fees  me  at  her  feet ! 

Yonder,  at  laft,  the  glad  fea  roars 
Along  the  facred  Englifli  fliores  ! 
There  lies  the  lovely  land  I  know, 
Where  men  and  women  lordliefl:  grow  ; 
There  peep  the  roofs  where  more  than 

kings 
Poftpone  ftate  cares  to  country  things, 
And  many  a  gay  queen  fimply  tends 
The  babes  on  whom  the  world  depends ; 
There  curls  the  wanton  cottage  fmoke 
Of  him  that  drives  but  bears  no  yoke  ; 
There  laughs  the  realm  where  low  and 

high 
Are  lieges  to  fociety. 
And  life  has  all  too  wide  a  fcope. 
Too  free  a  profped:  for  its  hope. 
For  any  private  good  or  ill, 
Except  didionour,  quite  to  fill  ! 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  73 

Pojiscript.  Since  this  was  penn'd,  I  read 
That  "  Mr.  Vaughan,  on  Tuefday,  wed 
The  beautiful  Mifs  Churchill."     So 
That's  over;  and  to-morrow  I  go 
To  take  up  my  new  poft  on  board 
The  Wolf,  my  peace  at  laft  reftored. 
For  all  the  fhowering  tears  that  foak 
This  paper.     Grief  is  now  the  cloak 
I  fold  about  me  to  prevent 
The  deadly  chill  of  a  content 
With  any  near  or  diftant  good. 
Except  the  exad:  beatitude 
Which  love  has  fliown  to  my  defire. 
You'll  point  to  "other  joys  and  higher." 
I  hate  and  difavow  all  blifs 
As  none  for  me  which  is  not  this. 
Think  not  I  blafphemoufly  cope 
With  God's  decrees,  and  cafl  off  hope. 
How,  when,  and  where  can  mine  fucceed  ? 
I  '11  truft  He  knows  who  made  my  need ! 


VIII. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

T   THOUGHT  the  worfl  had  brought 

me  balm, 
'T  was  but  the  tempeft's  central  calm. 
Vague  finkings  of  the  heart  aver 
That  dreadful  wrong  has  come  to  her, 
And  o'er  this  whim  I  brood  and  doat. 
And  learn  its  agonies  by  rote. 
As  if  I  loved  it,  early  and  late 
I  make  familiar  with  my  fate, 
And  feed,  with  fafcinated  will. 
On  very  dregs  of  finifh'd  ill. 
I  think,  fhe's  near  him  now,  alone. 
With  wardfliip  and  protedtion  none  ; 


78  Honor  ia. 

Alone,  perhaps,  in  the  hindering  ftrefs 
^   Of  airs  that  clafp  him  with  her  drefs, 
They  wander  whifpering  by  the  wave  ; 
And  haply  now,  in  fome  fea-cave 
Where  the  fait  fand  is  rarely  trod. 
They  laugh,  they  kifs.    O  God  !  O  God  ! 
Bafenefs  of  men  !     Purfuit  being  o'er, 
Doubtlefs  the  Lover  feels  no  more 
The  awful  heaven  of  fuch  a  Bride, 
But,  lounging,  let's  her  pleafe  his  pride 
With  fondnefs,  guerdons  her  carefs 
With  little  names,  and  twifts  a  trefs 
Round  idle  fingers.     If  't  is  fo. 
Why  then  I  'm  happier  of  the  two  ! 
Better,  for  lofty  lofs,  like  pain. 
Than  low  content  with  lofty  gain. 
Poor,  foolifli  Dove,  to  truft  from  me 
Her  happinefs  and  dignity  ! 

Thus,  all  day  long  till  frightful  night 
I  fear  flic's  harm'd  by  his  delight. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  79 

And  when  I  lay  me  down  at  even 
'Tis  Hades  lit  with  neighbouring  Heaven. 
There  comes  a  fmile  acutely  fweet 
Out  of  the  picturing  dark  ;   I  meet 
The  ancient  franknefs  of  her  gaze, 
That  fimple,  bold,  and  living  blaze 
Of  great  good-will  and  innocence. 
And  perfedl  joy  proceeding  thence  ! 
Ah  !  made  for  Earth's  delight,  yet  fuch 
The  mid-fea  air's  too  grofs  to  touch. 
At  thought  of  which,  the  foul  in  me 
Is  as  the  bird  that  bites  a  bee. 
And  darts  abroad  on  frantic  wing. 
Tailing  the  honey  and  the  fting  ; 
And,  moaning  where  all  round  me  deep 
Amidfl:  the  moaning  of  the  deep, 
I  ftart  at  midnight  from  my  bed  — 
And  have  no  right  to  ftrike  him  dead. 

What  world  is  this  that  I  am  in. 
Where  chance  turns  fan6tity  to  fin  ! 


8o  Honor  ia. 

'T  is  crime  henceforward  to  defire 
The  only  good,  the  facred  fire 
Of  all  the  univerfe  is  hell ! 
I  hear  a  Voice  that  argues  well  : 
"The  Heaven  hard  has  fcorn'd  your  cry  ; 
Fall  down  and  worlliip  me,  and  I 
Will  give  you  peace  ;  go  and  profane 
This  pangful  love,  fo  pure,  fo  vain. 
And  thereby  win  forgetfulnefs 
And  pardon  of  the  fpirit's  excefs. 
Which  foar'd  too  nigh  that  jealous  Heaven 
Ever,  fave  thus,  to  be  forgiven. 
No  Gofpel  has  come  down  that  cures 
With  better  gain  a  lofs  like  yours. 
Be  pious  !      Give  the  beggar  pelf. 
And  love  your  neighbour  as  yourfelf ! 
You,  \\'lu)  yet  love,  though  all  is  o'er. 
And  Ihe'll  ne'er  be  your  neighbour  more 
With  foul  wliich  can  in  pity  fmile 
That  aught  with  fuch  a  mcafure  vile 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  81 

As  felf  (hould  be  at  all  named  *  love ! ' 
Your  fand:ity  the  priefts  reprove, 
Your  cafe  of  grief  they  wholly  mifs. 
The  Man  of  Sorrows  names  not  this  ! 
*  The  years,'  they  fay,  *  graft  love  divine 
On  the  lopp'd  Hock  of  love  like  thine, 
The  wild  tree  dies  not,  but  converts.' 
So  be  it  ;•  but  the  lopping  hurts. 
The  graff  takes  tardily  !     Men  ftanch 
Meantime  with  earth  the  bleeding  branch. 
There 's  nothing  heals  one  woman's  lofs. 
And  lightens  life's  eternal  crofs 
With  intermiffion  of  found  reft. 
Like  lying  in  another's  breaft. 
The  cure  is,  to  your  thinking,  low ! 
Is  not  life  all,  henceforward,  fo  ? " 

111  Voice,  at  leaft  thou  calm'ft  my  mood ; 
I  '11  lleep  !     But,  as  I  thus  conclude. 
The  intrufions  of  her  grace  difpel 
The  comfortable  glooms  of  hell. 
6 


8  2  Honor  ia. 

A  wonder  !     Ere  thefe  lines  were  dried, 
Vaughan  and   my  Love,  his  three-days* 

Bride, 
Became  my  guefts.     I  look'd,  and,  lo  ! 
In  beauty  foft  as  is  the  fnow 
And  powerful  as  the  avalanche. 
She  lit  the  deck.  The  Heav'n-fent  chance ! 
She    fmiled,   furprifed.       They   came   to 

fee 
The  fliip,  not  thinking  to  meet  me. 
At  infinite  diftance  file's  my  day! 
What  then  to  him  ?     Howbeit  they  fay 
'T  is  not  (o  funny  in  the  fun 
But  men  miirht  live  cool  lives  thereon !' 

All 's  well  ;  for  I  have  feen  arife 
That  reflex  fweetnefs  of  her  eyes 
In  his,  and  watch'd  his  breath  defer 
Humbly  its  bated  life  to  her. 
His  'wife.     Dear  Love,  file's  fafe  in  his 
Devotion  ;  and  the  thought  of  this. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  83 

Though  more  than  ever  I  admire. 
Removes  her  out  of  my  defire. 

They  bade  adieu  ;   I  faw  them  go 
Acrofs  the  fea  ;  and  now  I  know 
The  ultimate  hope  I  relied  on, 
The  hope  beyond  the  grave,  is  gone, 
The  hope  that,  in  the  heavens  high. 
At  laft  it  fliould  appear  that  I 
Loved  moft,  and  fo,  by  claim  divine. 
Should  have  her,  in  the  heavens,  for  mine, 
According  to  fuch  nuptial  fort 
As  may  fublift  in  the  holy  court. 
Where,  if  there  are  all  kinds  of  joys 
To  exhauft  the  multitude  of  choice 
In  many  manfions,  then  there  are 
Loves  perfonal  and  particular, 
Confpicuous  in  the  glorious  fky 
Of  univerfal  charity. 
As  Hefper  in  the  funrife.     Now 
I  've  feen  them,  I  believe  their  vow 


84  Honor  ia. 

Immortal  ;   and  the  dreadful  thought, 
That  he  lefs  honour'd  than  he  ought 
Her  fandtity,  is  laid  to  reft. 
And,  bleffing  them,  I  too  am  bleft. 
My  good-will,  as  a  fpringing  air, 
Unclouds  a  beauty  in  defpair  ; 
,  I  ftand  beneath  the  fky's  pure  cope 
Unburthen'd  even  by  a  hope  ; 
And  peace  unfpeakable,  a  joy 
Which  hope  would  deaden  and  deftroy. 
Like  funfliine  fills  the  airy  gulf 
Left  by  the  vanidiing  of  felf. 
That  I  have  known  her ;  that  ftie  moves 
Somewhere  all-graceful  ;   that  flie  loves, 
And  is  belov'd,  and  that  (lie's  fo 
Moft  happy ;   and  to  heaven  will  go, 
Where  I  may  meet  with  her,  (yet  this 
I  count  but  adventitious  blifs,) 
And  that  the  full,  celcftial  weal 
Of  all  flrall  fcnfitively  feel 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  85 

The  partnerfliip  and  work  of  each, 
And,  thus,  my  love  and  labour  reach 
Her  region,  there  the  more  to  blefs 
Her  laft,  confummate  happinefs. 
Is  guerdon  up  to  the  degree 
Of  that  alone  true  loyalty 
Which,  facrificing,  is  not  nice 
About  the  terms  of  facrifice. 
But  offers  all,  with  fmiles  that  fay, 
'T  were  nothing  if  't  were  not  for  aye  ! 


BOOK    II. 
JAN  E. 


I 


I 


I. 


MRS.   GRAHAM  TO   FREDERICK. 


{ 


I 


MRS.  GRAHAM  TO  FREDERICK. 

T  WEEP  for  your  great  grief,  dear  Boy, 

And  not  lefs  for  your  lofty  joy. 
You  wanted  her,  my  Son,  for  wife. 
With  the  fierce  need  of  life  in  life  ! 
That  nobler  paffion  of  an  hour 
Was  rather  prophecy  than  power ; 
And  nature,  from  fuch  ftrefs  unbent. 
Recurs  to  deep  difcouragement. 
Truft  not  fuch  peace  yet ;  eafy  breath. 
In  hot  difeafes,  argues  death  ; 
And  taftelelTnefs  within  the  mouth 
Worfe  fever  fhows  than  heat  or  drouth. 
Wherefore  take  timely  warning.  Dear, 


92  ^ane. 

Againft  a  novel  danger  near. 

Beware  left  that  "ill  Voice"  once  more 

Should  plead,  not  vainly  as  before. 

Wed  not  one  woman,  O  my  Son, 

Becaufe  you  love  another  one  ! 

Oft,  with  a  disappointed  man. 

The  firft  who  cares  to  win  him  can  ; 

For,  after  love's  heroic  ftrain. 

Which  tired  the  heart  and  brought  no 

gain. 
He  feels  confoled,  relieved,  and  eafed 
To  meet  with  her  who  can  be  pleafed 
To  proffer  kindnefs,  and  compute 
His  acquiefcence  for  purfuit ; 
Who  troubles  not  his  lonely  mood  ; 
Afks  naught  for  love  but  gratitude  ; 
And,  as  it  were,  will  let  him  wxxp 
Himfclt  witliin  her  arms  to  lleep. 
Ah,  defperate  folly  !     (Though,  we  know, 
Who  wed  through  love  wed  moftly  fo.) 


Mrs.  Graham  to  Frederick.         93 

Before  all  elfe,  when  wed  you  do. 
See  that  the  woman  equals  you, 
Nor  ru{h,  from  having  loved  too  high. 
Into  a  worfe  humility. 
Whofe  Child,  whofe  Coujin  are  you  ?  Wait 
Until  this  blaft  fhall  well  abate  ! 
Though  love  may  feem  to  have  wreck'd 

your  life. 
Look  to  the  falvage  ;  take  no  wife 
Who  to  your  ilooping  feels  flie  owes 
Her  name ;  fuch  debts  make  bofom-foes. 

A  poor  eftate's  a  foolifh  plea 
For  marrying  to  a  bafe  degree. 
A  gentlewoman's  twice  as  cheap. 
As  well  as  pleafanter,  to  keep. 
Nor  think  grown  women  can  be  train'd, 
Or,  if  they  could,  that  much  were  gain'd ; 
For  never  was  a  man's  heart  caught 
By  graces  he  himfelf  had  taught. 
And  fancy  not  't  is  in  the  might 


94  Jane. 

Of  man  to  do  without  delight ; 
For  fliould  you  in  her  nothing  find 
To  exhilarate  the  higher  mind, 
Your  foul  will  clog  its  ufelefs  wings 
With  wickednefs  of  lawful  things, 
And  vampire  pleafure  fwift  deftroy 
Even  the  memory  of  joy. 
So  let  no  man,  in  defperate  mood. 
Wed  a  dull  girl  becaufe  file's  good.     • 
All  virtues  in  his  wife  foon  dim. 
Except  the  power  of  pleafing  him, 
Which  may  fmall  virtue  be,  or  none ! 

I  know,  my  juft  and  tender  Son, 
To  whom  the  dangerous  grace  is  given 
That  fcorns  a  good  which  is  not  heaven; 
My  Child,  who  ufed  to  fit  and  figh 
Under  the  bright,  ideal  fky, 
And  pafs,  to  fpare  the 'farmer's  wheat. 
The  poppy  and  the  meadow-fweet ! 
He  would  not  let  his  wife's  heart  ache 


Mrs.  Gra/iam  to  Frederick.         95 

For  what  was  mainly  his  miflake  ; 
But,  having  err'd  fo,  all  his  force 
Would  fix  upon  the  hard  right  courfe. 

I  fee  you  with  a  vulgar  wife  ! 
Or  one  abforb'd  in  future  life, 
And  in  this  tranfitory  place 
Contented  with  the  means  of  grace  ; 
Uncultured,  fay,  yet  good  and  true. 
And  therefore  inward  fair,  and,  through 
The  veils  which  inward  beauty  fwathe. 
All  lovely  to  the  eye  of  faith  ! 
Ah,  that 's  foon  fagged  ;  faith  falls  away. 
Without  the  ceremonial  ftay 
Of  outward  lovelinefs  and  awe. 
The  weightier  matters  of  the  law 
She  pays  ;  mere  mint  and  cumin  not ; 
And,  in  the  road  that  fhe  was  taught. 
She  treads,  and  takes  for  granted  ftilj 
Nature's  immedicable  ill ; 
So  never  wears  within  her  eyes 


96  'Jane. 

A  falfe  report  of  paradife. 
Nor  ever  modulates  her  mirth 
With  vain  compaffion  of  the  earth, 
Which  made  a  certain  happier  face 
Affe6ting,  and  a  gayer  grace 
With  pathos  deHcately  edged  ! 
Yet,  though  flie  be  not  privileged 
To  unlock  for  you  your  heart's  delight, 
(Her  keys  being  gold,  but  not  the  right,) 
On  lower  levels  flie  may  do  ! 
Her  joy  is  more  in  loving  you 
Than  being  loved,  and  flie  commands 
All  tendernefs  flie  underfl:ands. 
It  is  but  when  you  proffer  more, 
The  yoke  weighs  heavy  and  chafes  fore. 
It's  weary  work  enforcing  love 
On  one  who  has  enough  thereof, 
/  And  honour  on  the  lowlihead 
Of  ignorance  !     Befides,  you  dread. 
In  Leah's  arms,  to  meet  the  eyes 


I 


Mrs.  Graham  to  Frederick.  97 

Of  Rachel  fomewhere  in  the  fkies. 
And  both  return,  alike  relieved, 
To  life  lefs  loftily  conceived. 
Alas,  alas ! 

Then  wait  the  mood 
In  which  a  woman  may  be  woo'd 
Whofe  thoughts  and  habits  are  too  high 
For  honour  to  be  flattery ; 
And  fuch  would  furely  not  allow 
The  fuit  that  you  could  proffer  now. 
Her  equal  yoke  would  fit  with  eafe ; 
It  might,  with  wearing,  even  pleafe, 
(Not  with  a  better  word  to  move 
The  indignant  loyalty  of  love  !) 
She  would   not   mope  when   you  were 

gay, 

For  want  of  knowing  aught  to  fay ; 
Nor  vex  you  with  unhandfome  w.afte 
Of   thoughts    ill-timed    and   words    ill- 
placed  ; 
7 


98  ^ane. 

Nor  hold  fmall  things  for  duties  fmall, 
(This  brands  ill-breeding  moft  of  all,) 
But,  gilding  ufes  with  delight, 
And  comprehending  nature  right. 
Would  mend  or  veil  each  weaker  part 
With  fome  fweet  fupplement  of  art. 
Nor  would  file  bring  you  up  a  brood 
Of  ftrangers  bound  to  you  by  blood. 
Boys  of  a  meaner  moral  race. 
Girls  with  their  mother's  evil  grace. 
But  not  her  right  to  fometimes  find 
Her  critic  paft  his  judgment  kind  ; 
Nor,  unaccuftom'd  to  refpecfl. 
Which    men,    where    't  is    not    claim'd, 

negled:. 
Confirm  you  felfifli  and  morofe. 
And  flowly  by  contagion  grofs  ; 
But,  glad  and  able  to  receive 
The  honour  you  would  long  to  give, 
Would  haiK-n  on  to  jufiify 


Mrs.  Graham  to  Frederick.         99 

Your  hope  of  her,  however  high, 
Whilft  you  would  happily  incur 
Compullion  to  keep  up  with  her. 

Paft  price  is  fuch  a  woman,  yet 
Not  rare,  nor  hard  for  you  to  get ; 
And  fuch,  in  marrying,  yields  fo  much 
It  could  not  lefs  than  greatly  touch 
The  heart  of  him  who  call'd  her  Bride, 
With  tendernefs,  and  manly  pride. 
And  foft,  protedive,  fond  regard. 
And  thoughts  to  make  no  duty  hard. 

Your  love  was  wild,  (but  none  the  lefs 
Praife  be  to  love,  whofe  wild  excefs 
Reveals  the  honour  and  the  height 
Of  life,  and  the  fupreme  delight 
In  ftore  for  all  but  him  who  lies 
Content  in  mediocrities  !) 
To  wed  with  one  lefs  loved  may  be 
Part  of  divine  expediency. 
Many  men  cannot  love  ;  more  yet 


I  oo  'Jane. 

Cannot  love  fuch  as  they  can  get, 
Who  ftill  fliould  marry,  and  do,  and  find 
Comfort  of  heart  and  peace  of  mind 
More  than  when  love-fick  fpirits  dull 
The  force  of  manhood  mafterful, 
Which  woman's  foftneifes  require, 
And  women  ever  moft  admire. 


1 


II. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

'VT'OUR  letter,  Mother,  bears  the  date 
Of  fix  months  back,  and  comes  too 
late. 
My  Love,  pail  all  conceiving  loft, 
A  change  feem'd  good,  at  any  coft. 
From  lonely,  ftupid,  filent  grief. 
Vain,  objed:lefs,  beyond  relief. 
And  like  a  fea-fog  fettled  denfe 
On  fancy,  feeling,  thought,  and  fenfe. 
I  grew  fo  idle,  fo  defpifed 
Myfelf,  my  powers,  by  her  unprized  ; 
Honouring  my  poft,  but  nothing  more ; 
And  lying,  when  I  lived  on  fliore. 


1 04  "Jane, 

So  late  of  mornings ;  fliarp  tears  ftream'd 
For  fuch  flight  caufe, —  if  only  gleam'd, 
Remotely,  forrowfully  bright, 
On  clouded  eves  at  fea,  the  light 
Of  Englifli  headlands  in  the  fun, — 
That  foon  I  deem'd  't  were  better  done 
To  lay  this  poor,  complaining  wraith 
Of  unreciprocated  faith  ; 
And  fo,  with  heart  ftill  bleeding  quick, 
But  ftrengthen'd  by  the  comfort  lick 
Of  knowing  that  JJie  could  not  care, 
I  turn'd  my  back  on  my  defpair ; 
And  told  our  chaplain's  daughter,  Jane, — 
A  dear,  good  Girl,  who  faw  my  pain, 
And  fpoke  as  if  fhe  pitied  me, — 
How  glad  and  thankful  I  fliould  be 
If  fome  kind  woman,  not  above 
Myfelf  in  rank,  would  give  her  love 
To  one  that  knew  not  how  to  woo. 
Whereat  fhe,  witliout  more  ado. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  105 

Blufh'd,  fpoke  of  love  return'd,  and  clofed 
With  what  I  meant  to  have  propofed. 
And,  truft  me,  Mother,  I  and  Jane 
Suit  one  another  well.     My  gain 
Is  very  great  in  this  good  wife, 
To  whom  I'm  bound,  for  natural  life. 
By  hearty  faith,  yet  croffing  not 
My  faith  towards  —  I  know  not  what ! 
As  to  the  ether  is  the  air. 
Is  her  good  to  Honoria's  fair ; 
One  place  is  full  of  both,  yet  each 
Lies  quite  beyond  the  other's  reach 
And  recognition.     Star  and  ftar, 
Rays  croffing,  clofer  rivals  are, 
Sequefter'd  in  their  feparate  fpheres. 
And  now,  except  fome  cafual  tears. 
The  old  grief  lives  not.     If  you  fay. 
Am  I  contented  ?     Yea  and  nay  ! 
For  what's  bafe  but  content  to  grow 
With  lefs  good  than  the  beft  we  know  ? 


1 06  'Jane. 

But  think  me  not  from  lenfe  withdnw^n 

By  paflion  for  a  hope  that 's  gone. 

So  far  as  to  forget  how  much 

A  woman  is,  as  merely  fuch, 

To  man's  affection.     What  is  beft. 

In  each,  belongs  to  all  the  reft  ; 

And  though,  in  marriage,  quite  to  kifs 

And  half  to  love  the  cuftom  is, 

'T  is  fuch  diihonour,  ruin  bare, 

The  foul's  interior  defpair. 

And  life  between  two  troubles  tolT'd, 

To  me,  who  think  not  with  the  moft  ; 

Whatever  't  would  have  been  before 

My  Coufin's  time,  't  is  now  fo  fore 

A  treafon  to  the  abiding  throne 

Of  that  fweet  love  which  I  have  known, 

I  cannot  live  fo,  and  I  bend 

My  mind  perforce  to  comprehend 

That  He  who  gives  command  to  love 

Does  not  require  a  thing  above 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  1 07 

The  ftrength  he  gives.     The  higheft  de- 
gree 
Of  the  hardeft  grace,  humiUty ; 
The  ftep  t'wards  heaven  the  lateft  trod. 
And  that  which  makes  us  moft  Hke  God, 
And  us  much  more  than  God  behoves. 
Is,  to  be  humble  in  our  loves. 
Henceforth  forever  therefore  I 
Renounce  all  partiality 
Of  pailion.     Subjed:  to  control 
Of  that  perfpedlive  of  the  foul 
Which  God  himfelf  pronounces  good. 
Confirming  claims  of  neighbourhood. 
And  giving  man,  for  earthly  life. 
The  clofeft  neighbour  in  a  wife, 
I  '11  ferve  all.     Jane  be  much  more  dear 
Than  others  as  fhe's  much  more  near  ! 

Is  one  unlovable,  and  would 
We  love  him,  let  us  do  him  good  ! 
How  eafy,  then,  the  effect  to  raife 


io8  y. 


aiie. 


Where  naught's  amifs  but  homely  ways. 
I  love  her,  love  her !     Sweet  tears  come 
Of  this  my  felf-will's  martyrdom  ; 
And  fweet  tears  are  love's  teft,  for  love 
Is  naught  without  the  joy  thereof. 
Yet,  not  to  lie  for  God,  't  is  true 
That  'twas  another  joy  I  knew 
When  freighted  was  my  heart  with  fire 
Of  fond,  irrational  delire 
For  fafcinating,  female  charms, 
And  hopelefs  heaven  in  two  white  arms. 
"There's  nothing  half  fo  fweet  in  life," 
As  the  old  fong  fays  ;  and  I  nor  wife 
Nor  Heaven  affront,  if  I  profefs. 
That  care  for  heaven  with  me  were  lefs 
But  that  I  'm  utterly  imbued 
With  faith  of  all  Earth's  good  renew'd 
In  realms  where  no  fliort-coming  pains 
Expectance,  and  dear  love  difdains 
Time's  treafon,  and  the  gathering  drofs, 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  109 

And  lafts  forever  in  the  glofs 
Of  melting. 

All  the  bright  paft  feems. 
Now,  but  a  vifion  in  my  dreams, 
Which  fliows,  albeit  the  dreamer  wakes, 
The  flandard  of  right  life.     Life  aches 
To  be  therewith  conform'd  ;  but,  oh  ! 
The  world 's  fo  ftolid,  dark,  and  low  ! 
That  and  the  mortal  element 
Forbid  its  beautiful  intent. 
And,  like  the  unborn  butterfly. 
It  feels  the  wings,  and  wants  the  fky. 

But  perilous  is  the  lofty  mood 
Which  cannot  pull  with  lowly  good  ! 
Right  life,  for  me,  is  life  that  wends 
By  lowly  ways  to  lofty  ends. 
I  well  perceive,  at  length,  that  hafte 
T'wards  heaven  itfelf  is  only  wafte  • 
And  thus  I  dread  the  impatient  fpur 
Of  aught  that  fpeaks  too  plain  of  Her. 


1 1  o  y^'^^- 

There's  little  here  that  ftory  tells ; 
But  mufic  talks  of  nothing  elfe. 
Therefore,  when  mufic  breathes,  I  fay, 
(And  bufier  urge  my  tafk,)  Away  ! 
Thou  art  the  voice  of  one  I  knew. 
But  what  thou  fay'fi:  is  not  yet  true  ; 
Thou  art  the  voice  of  her  I  loved, 
And  I  would  not  be  vainly  moved. 

Thus  love,  which  did  from  death  fet 
free 
All  things,  now  dons  death's  mockery. 
And  takes  its  place  with  things  that  are 
But  little  noted.     Do  not  mar 
For  me  your  peace  !     My  health  is  high. 
The  proud  poiTefilon  of  mine  eye 
Departed,  I  am  much  like  one 
Who  had  by  haughty  cuftom  grown 
To  think  gilt  rooms,  and  fpacious  grounds, 
Horfes,  and  carriages,  and  hounds. 
Fine  linen,  and  an  eider  bed 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  1 1 1 

As  much  his  need  as  daily  bread. 

And  honour  of  men  as  much  or  more  ; 

Till,  ftrange  misfortune  fmiting  fore. 

His  pride  all  goes  to  pay  his  debts, 

A  lodging  anywhere  he  gets. 

And  takes  his  wife  and  child  thereto 

Weeping,  and  other  relics  few, 

Allow'd,  by  them  that  feize  his  pelf. 

As  precious  only  to  himfelf. 

But,  foon,  kind  compenfations,  all 

Unlook'd  for,  eafe  his  cruel  fall ; 

The  fun  ftill  fhines  ;  the  country  green 

Has  many  riches,  poorly  feen 

From  blazon'd  coaches  ;  grace  at  meat 

Goes  well  with  thrift  in  what  they  eat ; 

And  there's  amends  for  much  bereft 

In  better  thanks  for  much  that's  left. 

For  Jane,  dear  Mother,  what  at  firfl 
You'll  fee  in  her  is  all  the  worfl. 
I  '11  fay,  at  once,  in  outward  make. 


1 1 2  'Jane. 

She  is  not  fair  enough  to  wake 

The  wifli  for  fair.     She  bears  the  bell. 

However,  where  no  others  dwell ; 

And  features  fomewhat  plainly  fet. 

And  homely  manners,  leave  her  yet 

The  crowning  boon  and  most  exprefs 

Of  Heaven's  inventive  tendernefs, 

A  woman.     But  I  do  her  wrong, 

Letting  the  world's  eyes  guide  my  tongue ! 

For,  fince  't  was  for  my  peace,  I  've  grown 

More  learned  in  my  tafte,  and  own 

A  fort  of  handfomenefs  that  pays 

No  homage  to  the  hourly  gaze. 

And    dwells   not   on   the    arch'd    brow's 

height 
And  lids  which  foftly  lodge  the  light, 
Nor  in  the  pure  field  of  the  cheek 
Flowers,  though  the  foul  be  ftill  to  feek; 
But  (liows  as  fits  that  folemn  place 
Whereof  the  window  is  the  face  : 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  1 1 3 

Blanknefs  and  leaden  outlines  mark 
What  time  the  Church  within  is  dark ; 
Yet  view  it  on  a  Sunday  night, 
Or  fome  occalion  elfe  for  light, 
And  each  ungainly  line  is  feen 
Some  fpecial  chara6ter  to  mean 
Of  Saint  or  Prophet,  and  the  whole 
Blank  window  is  a  living  fcroll. 

Her  knowledge  and  converiing  powers. 
You'll  find,  are  poor.      The  clock,  for 

hours. 
Loud  clicking  on  the  mantel-fhelf, 
Has  all  the  talking  to  itfelf. 
But  to  and  fro  her  needle  runs 
Twice,  while  the  clock  is  ticking  once ; 
And,  when  a  wife  is  well  in  reach. 
Not  filence  feparates,  but  fpeech  ; 
And  I,  contented,  read,  or  fmoke 
And  idly  think,  or  idly  ftroke 
The  winking  cat,  or  watch  the  fire, 
8 


1 1 4  'J^^^^' 

In  focicil  peace  that  does  not  tire ; 
Until,  at  eafeful  end  of  day, 
She  moves,  and  puts  her  work  away, 
And,  faying  "  How  cold  't  is,"  or  "  How 

warm," 
Or  fomething  elfe  as  little  harm. 
Comes,  ufed  to  finding,  kindly  preff'd, 
A  woman's  welcome  to  my  breaft, 
With  all  the  great  advantage  clear 
Of  none  elfe  having  been  fo  near. 

But  fometimes,  (how  fliall  I  deny !) 
There  falls,  with  her  thus  fitting  by,  x 

Dejection,  and  a  chilling  fliade. 
Remember'd  pleafures,  as  they  fade. 
Salute  me,  and,  in  fading,  grow. 
Like  footprints  in  the  thawing  fnow. 
I  feel  opprelf'd  beyond  my  force 
With  foolilh  envy  and  remorfe. 
I  love  this  woman,  but  I  might 
Have  loved  fume  elfe  with  more  delight ; 


I 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  1 1 5 

And  ftrange  it  feems  of  God  that  He 
Should  make  a  vain*  capacity. 

Such  times  of  ignorant  relapfe, 
'T  is  well  fhe  does  not  talk,  perhaps. 
The  dream,  the  disfcontent,  the  doubt. 
To  fome  injuftice  flaming  out. 
Were 't  elfe,  might  leave  us  both  to  moan 
A  kind  tradition  overthrow^n. 
And  daw^ning  promife  once  more  dead 
In  the  pernicious  lowlihead 
Of  not  afpiring  to  be  fair. 
And  what  am  I  that  I  fhould  dare 
Difpute  with  God,  who  moulds  one  clay 
To  honour  and  fhame,  and  wills  to  pay 
With  equal  wages  them  that  delve 
About  his  vines  one  hour  or  twelve  ! 


III. 

JANE   TO   MRS.   GRAHAM. 


I 

I 


JANE   TO   MRS.   GRAHAM. 

T^EAR     Mother-in-Law,    dear    Fred 

(you've  heard 
I've  married  him)  fends  love,  and  word 
He  hopes  you'll  come  and  fee  us  foon. 
Dear  Fred  w^ill  be  on  leave  all  June, 
And,  for  a  week,  or  even  more. 
We  Ihall  be  very  glad  I  'm  fure. 
Dear  Fred  faid  /  muft  write.    He  thought 
It  feem'd  fo  difrefped:ful  not. 
I'm  fure  that's  the  lafi  thing  I'd  be 
To  dear  Fred's  relatives.     Both  he 
And  I  are  well,  dear  Mrs.  Graham, 
And  truft  fincerely  you're  the  fame. 


1 20  y^^^''- 

The  houfe  is  rather  fmall  we've  got, 
But  dear  Fred  fays  that  yours  is  not 
So  large  by  half;  fo  you'll  not  mind. 

If  you  can't  leave  your  Maid  behind, 
Who,  Fred  fays,  always  goes  with  you, 
I  '11  manage  fomehow  for  her  too. 

You've  heard  of  Uncle  John,  no  doubt. 
My  choice,  when  tirft  he  found  it  out, 
Difpleafed  him,  till  he  faw  dear  Fred, 
Who,  you'll  be  glad,  he  thinks  well-bred. 
And  an  extremely  nice  young  man. 
When  I  told  Uncle  John  our  plan 
About  you,  of  his  own  accord 
He  faid,  **  Well,  Jane,  you  can't  afford 
To  hire  a  vehicle,  my  Dear ; 
So,  while  your  Mother-in-Law  is  here, 
I  '11  fend  my  carriage  every  day. 
The  turnpikes  won't  be  much  to  pay." 
That's  the  kind  fort  of  man,  you  know! 
I  feci  quite  furc  you'll  like  him  io. 


''jane  to  Mrs.  Graham.  121 

He's  well  aware  your  family. 
Though  you're  not  rich,  is  very  high. 
And  therefore  he  will  not  neglect, 
Though  rich  himfelf,  all  due  refpedl. 

I  've  heard  of  your  dear  daughter  Grace, 
Who  died.     I  hope  to  fill  her  place. 
You  mull:  not  think,  now  Fred  has  got 
A  clofer  tie,  that  you  will  not 
Be  loved  jufl  like  you  ufed  to  be. 
For  my  part,  I  am  glad  to  fee 
Affedion.     When  I  have  but  faid 
Your  name,  I've  known  him  turn  quite 

red. 
If  I  bewail  our  nature's  taint. 
He  fays  he  has  feen  a  faultlefs  Saint. 
Of  courfe  that 's  you.   I  think  there 's  none 
More  kind  and  juft  than  your  dear  Son, 
Yet,  between  lis,  Fred's  worldly  frame 
Muft  grieve  ycu  much,  dear  Mrs.  Graham ; 
Who  are,  I  'm  fure,  from  all  I  've  heard. 


122  Jane. 

A  vefTel  chofen  of  the  Lord. 

But  I  have  hopes  of  him  ;   for,  oh, 

How  can  we  ever  furely  know 

But  that  the  very  darkeft  place 

May  be  the  fcene  of  faving  grace, 

Which  foftens  even  hearts  of  ftone  ! 

Commending  you  now  to  the  Throne 

Of  Mercy,  I  remain  in  all. 

Dear  Mrs.  Graham,  excufe  this  fcrawl, 

In  greateft  hafte,  but  ftill  the  fame. 

Your  moft  affectionate  Jane  Graham. 


IV. 


LADY   CLITHEROE   TO   MARY   CHURCHILL. 


LADY    CLITHEROE    TO    MARY 
CHURCHILL. 

T'VE  dreadful  news,  my  Sifter  dear  ! 

Frederick  has  married,  as  we  hear, 
Some  awful  girl.     This  fad:  we  get 
From  Mr.  Barton,  whom  we  met 
At  Abury  once.     He  ufed  to  know. 
At  Race  and  Hunt,  Lord  Clitheroe, 
Who  did  not  keep  him  up,  of  course. 
And  yet  he  writes,  (could  tafte  be  worfe!) 
And    tells    John    he    had    "  feen    Fred 

Graham, 
Commander  of  the  Wolf,  —  the  fame 
The  Mefs  call'd  Jofeph, — with  his  Wife 


1 26  y^^^^- 

Under  his  arm."     He  lays  his  Hfe, 
"  The  fellow  married  her  for  love. 
For  there  was  nothing  elfe  to  move. 
H.  is  her  Shibboleth.     'T  is  faid 
Her  Mother  was  a  Kitchen-Maid." 

Poor  Fred  !     What  ivill  Honoria  fay  ? 
She  thought  fo  highly  of  him.     Pray 
Tell  it  her  gently,  for  I  'm  fure 
That,  in  her  heart,  flie  liked  him  more 
Than  all  her  Coufins.      I  've  no  right, 
I  know  you  hold,  to  truft  my  fight ; 
But  Frederick's  ftate  could  not  be  hid  ! 
And  Felix,  coming  when  he  did. 
Was  lucky  ;   for  Honoria,  too. 
Was  almoft  gone.     How  warm  (lie  grew 
On  "worldlinefs,"  when  once  I  faid 
I  fancied  that  in  love  poor  Fred 
Had  taltcs  much  better  than  his  means  ! 
His  hand  was  worthy  of  a  Queen's, 
Said  (lie,  and  adiually  Hied  tears 


Lady  CUtheroe  to  Mary  Churchill.   1 27 

The  night  he  left  us  for  two  years. 
And  fobb'd,  when  afk'd  the  caufe  to  tell, 
That  "  Frederick  look'd  fo  miferable." 
He  did  look  very  dull,  no  doubt. 
But  fuch  things  girls  don't  cry  about. 

What  weathercocks  men  always  prove  ! 
You're  quite  right  not  to  fall  in  love. 
/  never  did,  and,  truth  to  tell, 
I  don't  think  it  refped:able. 
The  man  can't  underfland  it,  too ! 
He  likes  to  be  in  love  with  you. 
But  fcarce  knows  how,  if  you  love  him. 
Poor  fellow  !    When  it's  woman's  whim 
To  ferve  her  hufband  night  and  day. 
The  kind  foul  lets  her  have  her  way. 
So,  if  you  wed,  as  foon  you  fhould. 
Be  felfifh  for  your  hufband's  good  ! 
Happy  the  men  who  relegate 
Their  pleafures,  vanities,  and  flate 
To  us.     Their  nature  feems  to  be 


128  Jane. 

To  enjoy  themfelves  by  deputy, 

For,  feeking  their  own  benefit, 

Dear,  what  a  mefs  they  make  of  it  ! 

A  man  will  work  his  bones  away, 

If  but  his  wife  will  only  play ; 

He  does  not  mind  how  much  he's  teafed, 

So  that  his  plague  looks  always  pleafed 

And  never  thanks  her,  while  he  lives, 

For  anything,  but  what  he  gives  ! 

It's  hard  to  manage  men,  we  hear  ! 

Believe  me,  nothing's  eafier,  Dear. 

The  moft  important  ftep  by  far 

Is  finding  what  their  colours  are. 

The  next  is,  not  to  let  them  know 

The  reafon  why  they  love  us  fo. 

The  indolent  droop  of  a  blue  fliawl. 

Or  gray  filk's  fluctuating  fall, 

Covers  the  multitude  of  fins 

In  me ;  your  hufband,  Love,  might  wince 

At  azure,  and  be  wild  at  flate. 


Lady  Clitheroe  to  Mary  Churchill.   1 29 

And  yet  do  well  with  chocolate. 
Of  courfe  you'd  let  him  fancy  he 
Adored  you  for  your  piety ! 

There,  now  I  've  faid  enough,  my  Dear 
To  make  you  hate  me  for  a  year. 
You  need  not  write  to  tell  me  fo. 
Yours  fondly,  Mildred  Clitheroe. 


V. 

JANE  TO   HER   MOTHER. 


JANE   TO   HER   MOTHER. 

TAEAR  Mother,  Frederick's  all,  and 
^"^       more, 

A  great  deal,  than  you  fay,  I  'm  fure  ; 
And,  as  you  write,  of  courfe  I  fee 
How  glad  and  thankful  I  fhould  be 
For  fuch  a  hufband.     Yet,  to  tell 
The  truth,  I  am  fo  miferable  ! 
There  furely  muft  be  fome  miftake. 
What  could  he  fee  in  me  to  take 
His  fancy  !     I  remember,  though. 
He  never  faid  he  loved  me.     No, 
I  'm  no  more  fit  for  Frederick's  wife 
Than  Queen  of  England.     If  my  life 


1 34  'Jane. 

Could  ferve  his  very  flighteft  whim, 
I'm  fure  I'd  give  it  up  for  him 
With  pleafure  ;  but  what  Jliall  I  do  ! 
I  find  that  he's  fo  great  and  true 
That  everything  feems  falfe  and  wrong 
I  've  done  and  thought  my  whole  life  long ; 
And  fo,  though  he  is  often  kind. 
And  never  really  crofs,  my  mind 
Is  all  fo  dull  and  dead  with  fear 
That  Yes  and  No,  when  he  is  near. 
Is  much  as  I  can  fay.      He's  quite 
Unlike  what  moft  would  call  polite. 
And  yet,  when  firft  I  faw  him  come 
To  tea  in  Aunt's  fine  drawing-room, 
He  made  me  feel  fo  common.     Oh, 
How  dreadful  if  he  thinks  me  fo  ! 
It's  no  ufe  trying  to  behave 
To  him.      His  eye,  fo  kind  and  grave, 
Sees  through   and  through  me  !      Could 
not  you, 


yane  to  her  Mother.  135 

Without  his  knowing  that  I  knew, 

Afk  him  to  fcold  me  now  and  then  ? 

Mother,  it 's  fuch  a  weary  ftrain 

The  way  he  has  of  treating  me. 

As  if  't  was  fomething  fine  to  be 

A  woman  ;  and  appearing  not 

To  notice  any  faults  I  Ve  got, 

But  leaving  me  to  mend,  or  bear 

The  guilt  unblamed.     I  'm  quite  aware. 

Of  courfe,  he  knows  I  'm  plain,  and  fmall. 

Stupid,  and  ignorant,  and  all 

Awkward  and  mean.    As  Frederick  thefe, 

I  fee  the  beauty  which  he  fees 

When  often  he  looks  ftrange  awhile. 

And  recollects  me  with  a  fmile. 

I  wifh  he  had  that  fancied  Wife, 

With  me  for  Maid,  now !  all  my  life 

To  drefs  her  out  for  him,  and  make 

Her  beauty  lovelier  for  his  fake. 

To  have  her  rate  me  till  I  cried ; 


136  'J^^^' 

Then  fee  her  feated  by  his  lide, 

And  driven  off  proudly  to  the  Ball ; 

Then  to  ftay  up  for  her,  whilft  all  ■ 

The  fervants  were  afleep  ;  and  hear  ■ 

At  dawn  the  carriage  rolling  near, 

And  let  them  in  ;  and  hear  her  laugh. 

And  boaft  he  faid  that  none  was  half 

So  beautiful,  and  that  the  Queen, 

Who  danced  with  him  the  firft,  had  feen 

And  noticed  her,  and  afk'd  who  was 

That  lady  in  the  golden  gauze  i 

And  then  to  go  to  bed,  and  lie 

In  a  fort  of  heavenly  jealoufy, 

Until  't  was  broad  day,  and  I  gueff'd 

She  flept,  nor  knew  how  (lie  was  bleff'd. 

Mother,  I  look  and  feel  io  ill  ; 
And  foon  I  {hall  be  uglier  ftill. 
You  know.     But  I  have  heard  that  men 
Never  think  women  ugly  then. 
Pray  write  and  tell  me  if  that's  true. 


"Jane  to  her  Mother.  137 

And  pardon  me  for  teaiing  you 
About  my  filly  feelings  fo. 

Pleafe,  Mother,  never  let  him  know 
A  word  of  what  I  write.     I  'd  not 
Complain,  but  for  the  fear  I  've  got 
Of  going  wild,  as  I  've  heard  tell 
Of  fome  one  fhut  up  in  a  cell, 
With  no  one  elfe  to  talk  to.     He, 
Finding  that  he  was  loved  by  me 
The  moft,  might  think  himfelf  to  blame; 
And  I  ihould  almoft  die  for  fhame. 

When  I  get  up,  —  that's  now  at  feven. 
And   't  is   not  light,  —  my   heart 's  like 

heaven 
At  times  ;  for  I  've  a  foolifh  whim 
That  Fred  loves  me  as  I  love  him. 
And,  though  I  'm  neither  fair  nor  wife. 
Love,  fomehow,  makes  a  woman  nice. 
But  daylight  makes  the  glafs  refled: 
The  fadt ;  and  then  I  recoiled: 


■38  7 


ane. 


That  often  in  the  night  things  feem 
Which  are  not,  though  we  do  not  dream. 
If  being  good  would  ferve  —  but  oh  ! 
The  thought's  ridiculous,  you  know. 
Why,  I  myfelf,  I  never  could 
See  what's  in  women's  being  good. 
They've  nothing  in  the  world  to  do 
But  as  it's  juft  their  nature  to. 
Now,  when  the  men,  you  know,  do  right. 
They  have  to  try  with  all  their  might. 
They  're  fo  much  nobler  !     As  for  us. 
We  don't  defervc  the  leaft  the  fufs 
They  make  about  us. 

Mother,  mind 
You  muft  not  think  that  he's  unkind. 
Why,  I  would  rather  Frederick 
Should  hate  me,  beat  me  with  a  ftick. 
Than  ftop  at  home  all  day  and  coo. 
As  Aunt  likes  Uncle  John  to  do. 
I  'm  never  prouder,  after  all. 


'Jane  to  her  Mother.  139 

Than  when  he  ftands,  fo  ftern  and  tall, 
Before  the  fire.     With  bufy  lives, 
Men  can't  love  like  their  idle  wives ! 
And,  oh,  how  dull,  whilft  they  were  out. 
Had  women  naught  to  cry  about ! 


VI. 


DR.   CHURCHILL  TO  FREDERICK. 


1 


DR.    CHURCHILL    TO    FRED- 
ERICK. 

TAEAR  Nephew,  we  have  heard  your 

news 
From  ftrangers  !     Be  afTured  we  ufe 
Not  Hghtly  to  relax  our  love 
Where  once  't  is  bound  ;  and  I  approve 
Your  reafons,  whatfoe'er  they  be, 
For  filence.     Yield  no  lefs  to  me 
For  faying  I  wifh,  with  all  my  heart. 
Your  happinefs,  and  on  the  part 
Of  Mary,  who  is  ftill  at  home. 
Whenever  you  may  choofe  to  come 
And  bring  your  Wife,  you  both  will  find 
A  welcome  coufinly  and  kind. 


144-  Jane. 

As  an  old  man,  a  relative, 
And  churchman,  I  make  free  to  give 
My  bleffing,  burthen'd  with  the  truth 
For  want  of  which  the  fragile  youth 
Of  wedlock  fuffers  fhocks  and  fears. 
That  fwell  the  heart  with  needlefs  tears. 
I'll  not  fuppofe  that  rareft  chance 
Has  fall'n  which  makes  a  month's  ro- 
mance. 
Few,  if  't  were  known,  wed  whom  they 

would  ; 
And  this,  like  all  God's  laws,  is  good. 
For  naught 's  fo  fad  the  whole  world  o'er 
As  much  love  which  has  once  been  more. 
Glorious  for  warmth  and  light  is  love; 
But  worldly  things  in  the  rays  thereof 
Extend  their  fliadows,  every  one 
Falfe  as  the  image  which  the  fun 
At  noon  or  eve  dwarfs  or  protradts. 
A  perilous  lamp  to  light  men's  adls  ! 


Dr.  Churchill  to  Frederick.        145 

By  Heaven's  kind,  impartial  plan, 
Well  wived  is  he  that's  truly  man. 
If  but  the  woman 's  womanly. 
As  fure  I  am  your  choice  mufl  be. 
Luft  of  the  eyes  and  pride  of  life 
Perhaps  ihe  's  not.     The  better  wife  ! 
If  it  be  thus,  if  you  have  known 
(As  who  has  not  ?)  fome  heavenly  one 
Whom  the  dull  background  of  defpair 
Help'd  to  fhow  forth  fupremely  fair ; 
If  Memory,  ftill  remorfeful,  fhapes 
Young  Paffion  bringing  Efchol  grapes 
To  travellers  in  the  Wildernefs, 
This  truth  will  make  regret  the  lefs  : 
Mighty  in  love  as  graces  are, 
God's  ordinance  is  mightier  far  ; 
And  he  who  is  but  juft  and  kind 
And  patient,  fliall  for  guerdon  find. 
Before  long,  that  the  body's  bond 
Is  all  elfe  utterly  beyond 
10 


1 46  'J^ne. 

In  power  of  love  to  adlualize 
The  foul's  bond  which  it  fignifies, 
And  even  to  deck  a  wife  with  grace 
External  in  the  form  and  face. 
A  five  years'  wife  and  not  yet  fair  ? 
Blame  let  the  man,  not  Nature,  bear  ! 
For  as  the  fun,  warming  a  bank 
Where  laft  year's  grafs  droops  gray  and 

dank. 
Evokes  the  violet,  bids  difclofe 
In  yellow  crowds  the  frefli  primrofe, 
And  foxglove  hang  her  flufliing  head. 
So  vernal  love,  where  all  feems  dead. 
Makes  beauty  abound. 

Nor  was  that  naught, 
That  trance  of  joy  beyond  all  thought. 
The  vifion,  in  one,  of  womanhood  ; 
But  for  all  women  holding  good  ! 
Should  marriage  fuch  a  prologue  want, 
'T  were  fordid  and  mofl:  ignorant 


Dr.  Churchill  to  Frederick.        1 47 

Profanity  ;  but,  having  this, 
'T  is  honour  now,  and  future  bhfs. 
Life,  as  a  child,  is  put  to  play 
Love's  fimple  gamut  day  by  day. 
If  on  this  humble  tafk  he  dwells. 
Not  flying  off  to  fomething  elfe, 
But  as  the  Mafter  bids,  devotes 
To  thefe  few  oft-repeated  notes. 
His  practice,  till  fuch  comes  to  be 
His  fubtle,  fmooth  celerity 
That  from  his  eafy  hand  they  are  flung 
Like  bead-rows  by  a  touch  unftrung. 
The  Mafl:er,  after  many  days. 
Beyond  hope  fpeaks,  "Now  go  thy  ways ; 
And,  in  thy  fafe  and  finifh'd  art. 
Take,   with   the   chime   of  heaven,    thy 
part. 


VII. 

FREDERICK  TO  HIS  MOTHER. 


i 


I 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

1\/T OTHER,  on  my  returning  home 
Laft  night,  I  went  to  my  wife's 
room. 
Who,  whifpering  me  that  our  alarms 
Were  over,  put  into  my  arms 
Your  Grandfon.     And  I  give  you  joy 
Of  what,  I  'm  told,  is  a  fine  boy. 
Their  notion  that  he's  juft  like  me 
Is  neither  fa6l  nor  flattery  ! 
To  you  I  '11  own  the  little  wight 
Fill'd  me,  unfatherly,  with  fright. 
So  grim  it  gazed,  and  out  of  the  fky 
There  came,  minute,  remote,  the  cry. 


1 5  2  'Jane. 

Piercing,  of  original  pain. 
I  put  the  wonder  back  to  Jane, 
Who  proffer'd,  as  in  kindly  courfe. 
Untried  amends  for  ftrange  divorce. 
It  guefT'd  at  once,  by  great  good  luck, 
The  clever  baby,  how  to  fuck  ! 
Yet  Jane's  delight  feem'd  dafli'd,  that  I, 
Of  ftrangers  ftill  by  nature  fliy. 
Was  not  familiar  quite  fo  foon 
With  her  fmall  friend  of  many  a  moon. 
But  when  the  new-made  Mother  fmiled, 
She  feem'd  herfelf  a  little  child, 
Dwelling  at  large  beyond  the  law 
By  which,  till  then,  I  judged  and  faw, 
And  that  fond  glow  which  (lie  felt  ll:ir 
For  it,  fuffufed  my  heart  for  her ; 
To  whom,  from  the  weak  babe,  and  thence 
To  mc,  an  influent  innocence, 
Happy,  reparative  of  life. 
Came,  and  flic  was  indeed  my  wife, 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  153 

As  there  lovely  with  love  fhe  lay. 

Brightly  contented  all  the  day 

To  hug  her  fleepy  little  boy 

In  the  reciprocated  joy 

Of  touch,  the  childifh  fenfe  of  love. 

Ever  inquilitive  to  prove 

Its  ftrange  pofTeffion,  and  to  know 

If  the  eyes'  report  be  really  fo. 

She  wants  his  name  to  be  like  mine. 
But  I  demur,  at  twenty-nine. 
To  being  call'd  "  Old  Frederick." 
Her  father's,  Richard,  would  be  "Dick; " 
So  John  has  now  been  fix'd  upon. 
After  her  childlefs  Uncle  John, 
Who  owns  the  Grimlley  Powder-Mill, 
And,  perhaps,  may  put  him  in  his  Will. 
'Tis  alfo  fettled,  fince  the  mind, 
As  Jane  has  heard,  may  be  refined. 
In  babyhood,  by  fights  that  lull 
The  fenfes  with  the  Beautiful, 


1 54  "Jane. 

That  John  muft  be  refined  at  once. 
No  fault  of  ours  if  he 's  a  dunce  ! 
She  covets,  in  the  (hower-bath's  place, 
A  marble  image  of  a  Grace, 
Or,  if  that  cofts  too  much,  a  caft  ; 
But  we  are  both  agreed,  at  laft, 
'Twill  do  to  pin  a  certain  (hawl, 
Too  gay  to  wear,  againfl:  the  wall, 
And  let  him  learn  to  kick  and  coo 
At  lovely  ftripes  of  red  and  blue. 
And,  fince  Nurfe  fays  that,  now-a-days. 
Boys  learn,  at  fchool,  fuch  wicked  ways, 
Our  John 's  to  be  brought  up  at  home. 
Nor  mufl:  he  take  to  fea,  but  fome 
Lefs  perilous  and  reftlefs  life, 
Which  will  not  part  him  from  his  wife  ; 
The  Law  might  give  his  talents  play  ! 
It's  clear  he's  clever  from  the  way 
He  looks  about,  and  frowns,  and  winks, 
Which  Hunvs  that  he  obferves  and  thinks. 


VIII. 

JANE   TO    MRS.    GRAHAM. 


JANE   TO   MRS.   GRAHAM. 

TAEAR  Mother,  — fuch,  if  you'll  al- 
^      low. 

In  /ovey  not  /aw,  I  '11  call  you  now,  — 
I  hope  you're  well.     I  write  to  fay 
Frederick  has  got,  befides  his  pay, 
A  good  appointment  in  the  Docks  ; 
Alfo  to  thank  you  for  the  frocks 
And  fhoes  for  baby.     I,  D.  v., 
Shall  wean  him  foon.     Fred  goes  to  fea 
No  more.     I  am  fo  glad  ;  becaufe. 
Though  kinder  hufband  never  was. 
He  feems  ftill  kinder  to  become 
The  more  he  flays  with  me  at  home. 


158  7^'^^- 

When  we've  been  parted,  I  fee  plain 
He's  dull  till  he  gets  ufed  again 
To  marriage.     Do  not  tell  him,  though; 
I  would  not  have  him  know  I  know, 
For  all  the  world. 

How  good  of  you 
Not,  as  I  've  heard  fome  mothers  do, 
To  hate  his  wife  !     I  try  to  mind 
All  your  advice  ;   but  fometimes  find 
I  do  not  well  know  how.      I  thought 
To  take  it  about  drefs ;   fo  bought 
A  gay  new  bonnet,  gown,  and  fliawl  ; 
But  Frederick  was  not  pleafed  at  all ; 
For,  though  he  fmiled,  and  faid,  "  How 

fmart !  " 
I  feel,  you  know,  what's  in  his  heart. 
But  I  (liall  learn  !     I  fancied  long 
That  care  in  drefs  was  very  wrong, 
Till  Frederick,  in  his  ftartling  way 
When  I  began  to  blame,  one  day, 


'Jane  to  Mrs.  Graham.  159 

The  Admiral's  wife,  becaufe  we  hear 
She  fpends  two  hoi^rs,  or  fomething  near, 
In  dreffing,  took  her  part,  and  faid 
How  all  things  deck  themfelves  that  wed ; 
How  birds  and  plants  grow  fine  to  pleafe 
Each  other  in  their  marriages ; 
And  how  (which  certainly  is  true  — 
It  never  ftruck  me  —  did  it  you  ?) 
Drefs  was,  at  firft.  Heaven's  ordinance. 
And  has  much  Scripture  countenance. 
For  Eliezer,  we  are  told, 
Adorn'd  with  jewels  and  with  gold 
Rebecca.      In  the  Pfalms,  again, 
How  the  King's  Daughter  drelT'd  !    And, 

then, 
The  Good  Wife  in  the  Proverbs,  (he 
Made  herfelf  clothes  of  tapeftry. 
Purple,  and  filk  :  and  there's  much  more 
I  had  not  thought  about  before  ! 
It's  ftrange  how  well  Fred  underllands 


1 60  'Jane. 

A  Book  I  don't  fee  in  his  hands 
At  all,  except  at  Church. 

Do  you  know. 
Since  Baby  came,  he  loves  me  fo  ! 
I  'm  really  ufeful,  now,  to  Fred  ; 
And  none  could  do  fo  well  inftead. 
It's  nice  to  fancy,  if  I  died. 
He'd  mifs  me  from  the  Darling's  fide  ! 
Alfo,  there's  fomething  now,  you  fee. 
On  which  we  talk,  and  quite  agree  ; 
On  which,  without  pride  too,  I  can 
Hope  I  am  wifer  than  a  man. 
I  fhould  be  happy  now,  if  quite 
Convinced  that  Frederick  was  right 
About  religion  ;   but  he's  odd. 
And  very  feldom  fpeaks  of  God  ; 
And,  though  I  truft  his  prayers  are  faid, 
Becaufe  he  goes  fo  late  to  bed, 
I  doubt  his  calling.     Glad  to  find 
A  text  adapted  to  his  mind. 


'Jajie  to  Mrs.  Graham.  i6i 

I  £how'd  him  Thirty-three  and  four 

Of  Chapter  feven,  firft  of  Cor., 

Which  feems  to  allow,  in  Man  and  Wife, 

A  little  worldlinefs  of  life. 

He  fmiled,  and  faid  that  he  knew  all 

Such  things  as  that  without  Saint  Paul ! 

And  once  he  faid,  when  I  with  pain 

Had  got  him  jufl  to  read  Romaine, 

"  Men's   creeds   fhould    not   their   hopes 

condemn. 
Who  wait  for  heaven  to  come  to  them 
Are  little  like  to  go  to  heaven, 
If  logic's  not  the  devil's  leaven  !  " 
I  cried  at  fuch  a  wicked  joke, 
And  he,  furprifed,  went  out  to  fmoke. 

But  to  judge  him  is  not  for  me. 
Who  lin  myfelf  fo  dreadfully 
As  half  to  doubt  if  I  fhould  care 
To  go  to  heaven,  and  he  not  there. 
He  muji  be  right ;  and  I  dare  fay 
II 


1 6  2  'Jane. 

I  foon  Ihall  underftand  his  way. 
To  other  things,  once  ftrange,  I  've  grown 
Accultom'd,  nay,  to  hke.     I  own 
'T  was  long  before  I  grew  well  ufed 
To  fit,  while  Frederick  read  or  mufed 
For  hours,  and  fcarcely  fpoke.    When  he. 
For  all  that,  held  the  door  to  me. 
Picked  up  my  handkerchief,  and  rofe 
To  fet  my  chair,  with  other  (liovvs 
Of  honour,  fuch  as  men,  't  is  true. 
To  fweethearts  and  tine  ladies  do. 
It  almoft  feem'd  an  unkind  jefl: ; 
But  now  I  like  thefe  ways  the  bell. 
They  fomehow  help  to  make  me  good  ; 
And  I  don't  mind  his  quiet  mood. 
If  Frederick  does  feem  dull  awhile, 
There  \s  Baby.   You  (liould  fee  him  fmile! 
I  'm  pretty  and  nice  to  him,  fweet  Pet, 
And  he  will  learn  no  better  yet  ; 
And  when  he 's  big  and  wife,  you  know. 


'Jane  to  Mrs.  Graham.  163 

There'll  be  new  babes  to  think  me  fo, 
Indeed,  now  little  Johnny  makes 
A  bufier  time  of  it,  and  takes 
Our  thoughts  off  one  another  more, 
I  'm  happy  as  need  be,  I  'm  fure  ! 


I 

I 


BOOK    III. 
RACH  EL. 


I. 

JANE   TO   MRS.    GRAHAM. 


I 


JANE   TO    MRS.   GRAHAM. 

TAEAR  Mrs.  Graham,  the  fever's  pafl, 
^^^    And  we're  all  well.     I,  in  my  lafl, 
Forgot  to  fay  that,  while  \  was  on, 
A  lady,  call'd  Honoria  Vaughan, 
One  of  Fred's  Salifbury  Coulins,  came. 
Had  I,  fhe  afk'd  me,  heard  her  name  ? 
'T  was  that  Honoria,  no  doubt. 
Whom  Fred  would  fometimes  talk  about 
And  fpeak  to,  when  his  nights  were  bad, 
And  io  I  told  her  that  I  had. 
She  look'd  fo  beautiful  and  kind  ! 
And  fb  much  like  the  wife  my  mind 
Was  fond  of  picturing  for  Fred, 


1 70  Rachel. 

Thofe  wretched  years  we  firft  were  wed, 
Before  I  guelT'd,  or  ufe  could  prove, 
The  fort  of  things  my  hufband  loved  ; 
And  how  juft  living  with  me  was. 
In  fome  ftrange  way,  the  dearefl:  caufe 
For  liking,  and,  inftead  of  charms, 
Was  being  accuftom'd  to  my  arms ; 
And  even  how  my  getting  ill. 
And  nervous,  crofs,  and  uglier  ftill. 
And  bringing  him  all  kinds  of  care, 
AfFcd:ed  him  like  growing  fair  ; 
And  how,  by  his  brave  fingers  prelf'd. 
The  bliftcr,  that  would  burn  my  breaft 
And  only  make  his  own  to  fmart, 
Drew  the  proud  flefh  from  either's  heart; 
And  fo,  for  all  indignities 
Of  life  in  health  and  in  difeafe. 
His  friendlinefs  got  more  and  more  ! 

Ot  this  great  joy  to  make  cjuite  fure, 
I  aik'd  once,  (when  he  could  not  fee,) 


'Jane  to  Mrs.  Graha?n.  171 

Why  fuch  things  made  him  fond  of  me  ? 
He  kiff'd  me  and  faid,  the  honour  due 
To  the  weaker  velTel  furely  grew 
With  the  vefTel's  weaknefs  ! 

I'll  go  on. 
However,  about  Mrs.  Vaughan. 
Viiiting,  yefterday,  fhe  faid. 
The    Admiral's   Wife,   fhe    learn'd    that 

Fred 
Was  very  ill ;  fhe  begg'd  to  be. 
If  pofTible,  of  ufe  to  me. 
What  could  fhe  do  ?     Laft  year,  Fred's 

Aunt 
Died,  leaving  her,  who  had  not  a  want. 
Her  fortune.     Half  was  his,  fhe  thought ; 
But    Fred,    fhe    knew,   would    ne'er   be 

brought 
To  take  his  rights  at  fecond-hand  ! 
Yet    fomething    might,    flie    hoped,    be 

plann'd 


172  Rachel. 

With  me,  which  even  Frederick, 

As  favour  done  to  her,  would  Hke. 

What  did  I  think  of  putting  John 

To  fchool  and  college  ?     Mr.  Vaughan, 

When  John  was  old  enough,  could  give 

Preferment  to  her  relative, 

In  Government  or  Church.     I  faid 

I  felt  quite  fure  that  deareft  Fred 

Would  be  fo  thankful.    Would  we  come, 

And  make  ourfelves,  then,  quite  at  home. 

Next  month,  at  High-Hurft .?     Change 

of  air 
Both  he  and  I  fliould  need,  and  there 
At  leifure  we  could  talk,  and  fix 
Our  plans,  as  John  was  nearly  fix. 

It  feemed  fo  rude  to  think  and  doubt, 
So  I  faid.  Yes.     In  going  out. 
She  faid,  "  How  odd  of  Frederick,  Dear," 
(I  wifli'd  he  had  been  there  to  hear,) 
"  To  fend  no  cards,  or  tell  me  what 


Jane  to  Mrs.  Graham.  173 

A  nice  new  Coufin  I  had  got ! 
Was'nt  that  kind  ? 

When  Fred  grew  ftrong, 
I  had,  I  found,  done  very  wrong. 
For  the  firft  time,  his  voice  and  eye 
Were  angry.     But,  with  folks  fo  high 
As  Fred  and  Mrs.  Vaughan  and  you. 
It 's  hard  to  guefs  what 's  right  to  do  ! 
And  he  won't  teach  me. 

Dear  Fred  wrote, 
Direftly,  fuch  a  lovely  note. 
Which,  though  it  undid  all  I  'd  done. 
Was,  both  to  me  and  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
So  kind  !     His  words,  I  can't  fay  why, 
Like  foldiers'  mufic,  made  me  cry. 
Do,  Mother,  afk  dear  Fred  to  go 
Without  me  !     I  can't  leave,  you  know, 
The  babes.     Belides,  't  were  folly  ftark 
For  me  to  go  to  High-Hurft  Park. 
I  'm  not  fo  awkward  as  I  was  ; 


1 74  Rachel. 

But,  all  confufed,  and  juft  bccaufe 
By  chance  he  call'd  me  "Love"  to-day, 
I  made  luch  hafte  out  of  his  way 
I  overfet  my  chair  ;  whereat 
Fred  laugh'd,  and  on  the  fpitting  cat 
The  fire-fcreen  tumbled  ;   To  I  tried 
Thefe  rifks  no  more,  and  flood  and  cried, 
And  hid  for  Ihame  my  burning  face. 
To  hear  he  liked  "that  kind  of  grace." 
Fancy  if  fuch  a  thing  was  done 
Where  ladies  move  like  Mrs.  Vaughan  ! 
But  deareft  Fred  Jhoitld,  once  a  year, 
Juft  get  a  fight  of  his  own  fphere. 


I 


II. 


LADY   CLITHEROE  TO   MARY   CHURCHILL. 


LADY   CLITHEROE    TO    MARY 
CHURCHILL. 

p\EAR  Saint,  I'm  ftill  at  High-Hurft 

^      Park. 

The  houfe  is  fill'd  with  folks  of"  mark. 

Honoria  fuits  a  good  eftate 

Much  better  than  I  hoped.     How  fate 

Pets  her  with  happinefs  and  pride  ! 

And  fuch  a  loving  lord,  belide ! 

But,  between  us.  Sweet,  everything 

Has  limits,  and  to  build  a  wing 

To  this  old  houfe,  when  Courtholm  flands 

Empty  upon  his  Berkshire  lands. 

And  all  that  Honor  might  be  near 

I  2 


178  Rachel. 

Papa,  was  buying  love  too  dear. 

And  yet,  to  fee  mild  Mrs.  Vaughan 

Shining  on  all  (he  looks  upon. 

You'd  think  that  none  could  ftand  more 

high 
Than  others  in  her  charity ; 
And  to  behold  her  courtly  lord 
Converfe  with  her  acrofs  the  board, 
'T  would  feem  that  part  of  perfect  life 
Was  not  to  covet  one's  own  wife. 
The  hypocrites  ! 

Love,  there  are  two 
Guefts    here,   whofe    names   will    ftartle 

you, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frederick  Graham  ! 
I  thouglit  he  ftay'd  away  for  fliame. 
He  and  his  wife  were  afk'd,  you  know, 
And  would  not  come,  four  years  ago. 
You  rccc)lle6t  Mifs  Smythe  found  out 
Who  Ihc  had  been,  and  all  about 


Lady  Clitheroe  to  Mary  Churchill.   1 79 

The  Chaplain  and  the  Powder-Mill, 
And  how  the  fine  Aunt  tried  to  inftil 
Haut  toHy  and  how,  at  laft,  poor  Jane 
Had  got  fo  fhy  and  gauche  that,  when 
The  Dockyard  gentry  came  to  fup, 
She  always  had  to  be  lock'd  up  ; 
And  fome  one  wrote  to  John  and  faid 
Her  mother  was  a  Kitchen-Maid. 
Dear  Mary,  you'll  be  charm'd  to  know 
It  muji  be  all  a  fib.     But,  oh, 
She  is  the  oddeft  Httle  Pet 
On  which  my  eyes  were  ever  fet ! 
She's  fo  outree  and  natural 
That,  when  fhe  firll  arrived,  we  all 
Wonder'd,  as  when  a  robin  comes 
In  through  the  window  to  eat  crumbs 
At  breakfaft  with  us.     She  has  fenfe. 
Humility,  and  confidence  ; 
And,  fave  in  drefling  jufl  a  thought 
Gayer  in  colours  than  (he  ought. 


i8o  Rachel. 

(To-day  ilie  looks  a  crofs  between 
Gypfy  and  Fairy,  red  and  green,) 
All  that  fhe  does  is  fomehow  well. 
And  yet  one  never  quite  can  tell 
What  file  7)iight  do  or  utter  next. 
Lord  Clitheroe  is  much  perplex'd  ; 
Her  hulhand,  every  now  and  then. 
Looks  nervous ;   all  the  other  men 
Are  charm'd.    Yet  fhe  has  neither  grace. 
Nor  one  good  feature  in  her  face. 
Her  eyes,  indeed,  flame  in  her  head. 
Like  very  altar-fires  to  Fred, 
Whofe  ftep  {he  follows  everywhere, 
Like  a  tame  duck,  to  the  dcfpair 
Of  Colonel  Holmes,  who  does  his  part 
To  break  her  funny  little  heart. 
Honor's  enchanted.     'T  is  her  view 
That  people,  if  they  're  good  and  true. 
And  treated  well,  and  let  alone. 
Will  kindly  take  to  what's  their  own. 


Lady  Clitheroe  to  Mary  Churchill.   1 8 1 

And  always  be  original, 

Like  children.      (Honor's  juft  like  all 

The  reft  of  us  !     But,  thinking  fo. 

It's  well  fhe  milT'd  Lord  Clitheroe, 

Who  hates  originality. 

Though  he  puts  up  with  it  in  me  !) 

Poor  Mrs.  Graham  has  never  been 
To  the  Opera  !     You  fliould  have  feen 
The  innocent  way  fhe  told  the  Earl 
She  thought  Plays  linful  when  a  girl. 
And  now  fhe  never  had  a  chance  ! 
Frederick's  complacent  fmile  and  glance 
Towards  her,  fhow'd  me,  paft  a  doubt, 
Honoria  had  been  quite  cut  out. 
It's  very  odd  ;  for  Mrs.  Graham, 
Though     Frederick's    fancy    none    can 

blame. 
Seems  the  laji  woman  you  'd  have  thought 
Her  lover  would  have  ever  fought ! 
She  never  reads,  I  find,  nor  goes 


1 8  2  Rachel. 

Anywhere  ;  fo  that  I  fuppofe 
She  came  at  all  ihe  ever  knew 
By  lapping  milk,  as  kittens  do. 

Talking  of  kittens,  by  the  by, 
You've  much  more  influence  than  I 
With  dear  Honoria.     Get  her.  Dear, 
To  be  a  little  more  fevere 
With  thofe  fweet  children.    They've  the 

run 
Of  all  the  houfe.    When  fchool  was  done, 
Maude  burft  in,  while  the  Earl  was  there. 
With  "  O  Mamma,  do  be  a  bear !  " 
They  come  on  with  the  fruit,  and  climb 
In  people's  laps,  and  all  the  time 
Eat,  and  we  ladies  have  to  rife. 
Left  Frank  rtiould  die  of  ftrawberries. 

And  there's  another  thing,  my  Love, 
I  wifli  you'd  fhow  you  don't  approve, 
(But  perhaps  you  do  !)  Though  all  confefs 
Her  tad:  is  abfolute  in  drefs. 


I 


Lady  Clitheroe  to  Mary  Churchill.   1 8  3 

She  does  not  get  her  things  fo  good 
As,  with  her  fortune  now,  fhe  fhould. 
I  feel  quite  certain,  between  us. 
She  cheats  her  hufband,  (fhe  did  thus 
With  dear  Papa,)  and  has  no  end 
Of  pin-money,  full  half  to  fpend 
On  folks  who  think  themfelves  in  this 
Paid  takers  of  her  tolls  to  Blifs. 

She  has  her  faults,  but  I  mufl  fay- 
She 's  handfomer,  in  her  quiet  way, 
Than  ever  !     This  odd  wife  of  Fred 
Adores  his  old  love  in  his  ftead. 


I 


III. 

JANE  TO   MRS.   GRAHAM. 


JANE   TO    MRS.   GRAHAM. 

IV/T OTHER,    at    laft,    we    are    really 

come 
To  High-Hurft.    Johnny  ftays  at  home. 
We  fettled  that  it  muft  be  fo, 
For  he  has  been  to  Aunt's,  at  Stowe, 
And  learn'd  to  leave  his  h's  out ; 
And  people  like  the  Vaughans,  no  doubt, 
Would  think  this  dreadful.     I,  at  firft. 
Half  fear'd  this  vifit  to  the  Hurft. 
Fred  muft,  I  knew,  be  fo  diftrelf'd 
By  aught  in  me  unlike  the  reft 
Who  come  here.     But  I  find  the  place 
Delightful ;  there's  fuch  eafe  and  grace 


1 88  RacheL 

And  kindnefs,  and  all  fcem  to  be 

On  I'uch  a  high  equality. 

They  have  not  got  to  think,  you  know, 

How  far  to  make  the  money  go. 

But  Frederick  fays  it's  lefs  the  expenfe    " 

Of  money,  than  of  found  good  fenfe, 

Quicknefs  to  care  what  others  feel, 

And  thoughts  with  nothing  to  conceal ; 

Which  I  '11  teach  Johnny.    Mrs.  Vaughan 

Was  waiting  for  us  on  the  Lawn, 

And  kilf'd  and  call'd  me  **  Coufin."    Fred 

Neglefted  his  old  friends,  Ihe  faid. 

He  laugh'd,  and  rcdden'd  up  at  this. 

She  was,  I  think,  a  flame  of  his ; 

But  I  'm  not  jealous !     Luncheon  done, 

I  left  him,  who  had  jull:  begun 

To  talk  about  the  chance  of  war. 

With  an  old  Lady,  Lady  Carr, — 

A  Countcfs,  but  I'm  more  afraid, 

A  great  deal,  of  the  Lady's  maid, — 


'Jane  to  Mrs.  Graha??i.  189 

And  went  with  Mrs.  Vaughan  to  fee 
The  pid:ures,  which  appear'd  to  be 
Of  forts  of  horfes,  boors,  and  cows 
CairdWouvermans,and  Cuyps,and  Dows. 
And,  then,  fhe  took  me  up,  to  fhow 
Her  bedroom,  where,  long  years  ago, 
A  Queen  flept.     'T  is  all  tapeftries 
Of  Cupids,  Gods,  and  GoddelTes  ; 
And  black,  carved  oak.    A  curtain'd  door 
Leads,  thence,  into  her  bright  boudoir. 
Where  even  her  hufband  may  but  come 
By  favour.     He,  too,  has  his  room, 
Kept  facred  to  his  folitude. 
Did  I  not  think  the  plan  was  good  ? 
She  afk'd  me  ;  but  J  faid  how  fmall 
Our  houfe  was,  and  that,  after  all. 
Though  Fred  would  never  fay  his  prayers 
At  night,  till  I  was  fafe  upftairs, 
I  thought  it  wrong  to  be  fo  fhy 
Of  being  good  when  I  was  by. 


190  Rachel. 

"  Oh,  you  fliould  humour  him !  "  ihe  faid, 
With  her  fweet  voice  and  Imile ;  and  led 
The  way  to  where  the  children  ate 
Their  dinner,  and  Mifs  Williams  fate. 
She's  only  Nurfery-Governefs, 
Yet  they  conlider  her  no  lefs 
Than  Lord  or  Lady  Carr,  or  me. 
Juft  think  how  happy  flie  mufl  be  ! 
The  Ball-Room,  with  its  painted  fky, 
Where  heavy  angels  feem  to  fly. 
Is  a  dull  place  ;  its  lize  and  gloom 
Make  them  prefer,  for  drawing-room, 
The  Library,  all  done  up  new 
And  comfortable,  with  a  view 
Of  Salifbury  Spire  between  the  boughs. 
When  file  had  fliown  me  through  the 
houfe, 
(I  wifli  I  could  have  let  her  know 
That  Ilic  herfelf  was  half  the  fhow, 
She  is  {o  handfome  and  i'o  kind,) 


"Jane  to  Mrs.  Graham.  191 

She   had   the  children   down,  who    had 

dined. 
And,  taking  one  in  either  hand, 
Show'd   me   how  all   the   grounds  were 

plann'd. 
The  lovely  garden  gently  (lopes 
To  where  a  curious  bridge  of  ropes 
CrolTes  the  Avon  to  the  Park. 
We  refted  by  the  ftream,  to  mark 
The  brown  backs  of  the  hovering  trout. 
Frank  tickled  one,  and  took  it  out 
From  under  a  ftone.     We  faw  his  owls. 
And  awkward  Cochin  China  fowls. 
And  fliaggy  pony  in  the  croft ; 
And  then  he  dragg'd  us  to  a  loft. 
Where  pigeons,  as  he  pufli'd  the  door, 
Fann'd  clear  a  breadth  of  dufty  floor. 
And  fet  us  coughing.     I  confefs 
I  trembled  for  my  nice  fllk  drefs. 
I  cannot  think  how  Mrs.  Vaughan 


192  Rachel. 

Ventured  with  that  which  flie  had  on, — 
A  mere  white  wrapper,  with  a  few 
Plain  trimmings  of  a  tranquil  blue. 
But,  oh,  fo  pretty  !     Then  the  bell 
For  dinner  rang.      I  look'd  quite  well,. 
("Quite  charming"  were  the  words  Fred 

faid,) 
In  the  new  gown  that  I  've  had  made 
At  Salifbury.     In  the  drawing-room 
Was  Mr.  Vaughan,  juft  then  come  home. 
I  thought  him  rather  cold,  but  find 
That  he's  at  heart  extremely  kind. 
He's  Captain  of  the  Yeomanry, 
And  Magiftrate,  and  has  to  fee 
About  the  paupers  and  the  roads  ; 
And  Fred  fays  he  has  written  odes 
On  Mrs.  Vaughan,  to  fend  her  praife. 
Like  Laura's,  down  to  diftant  days. 
So  Hie  deferves  !     What  caufe  there  is, 
I  know  not,  though,  for  faying  this. 


I 


"Jane  to  Mrs.  Graha??t.  193 

But  that  fhe  looks  fo  kind  and  young, 
And  every  word's  a  little  fong. 
I  am  fo  proud  of  Frederick, 
He's  fo  high-bred  and  lordly-like 
\\Jith  Mrs.  Vaughan  !     He's  not  quite  fo 
At  home  with  me  ;  but  that,  you  know, 
I  can't  expert,  or  wifh.     'T  would  hurt, 
And  feem  to  mock  at  my  defert. 
Not  but  that  I  'm  a  duteous  wife 
To  Fred  ;  but  in  another  life. 
Where  all  are  fair  that  haye  been  true, 
I  hope  I  fhall  be  graceful  too. 
Like  Mrs.  Vaughan.     And,  now.  Good- 
bye. 
That  happy  thought  has  made  me  cry. 


13 


I 

I 


IV 


HONORIA  VAUGHAN  TO  DR.  CHURCHILL. 


HONORIA   VAUGHAN    TO    DR. 
CHURCHILL. 

TA  BAREST  Papa,  at  lafl  we  are  come, 
^'^     The  tirefome  feafon  over,  home  ! 
How  honourable  it  feems  to  me ! 
I  am  fick  of  town  fociety. 
The  Opera,  and  the  flatteries 
Of  cynic,  difrefpeftful  eyes  ! 

Frederick  is  here.     Tell  Mrs.  Fife ; 
Who  adored  him.     He  has  brought  his 

wife. 
She  is  fo  nice  ;  but  Felix  goes 
Next  Sunday  with  her  to  the  Clofe, 
And  you  will  judge  her.     She  the  firfl 


198  Rachel. 

Has  made  me  jealous,  though  the  Hurft 
Is  lit  fo  oft  with  lovelinefs, 
And,  when  in  town,  where  I  was  lefs 
Conftrain'd  in  choice,  I  always  afk'd 
The  prettieft.     Felix  really  bafk'd 
Like  Pufs  in  fire-fliine,  when  the  room 
Was  all  aflame  with  female  bloom  ; 
And,  fince  I  praifed  and  did  not  pout, 
His  little,  lawlefs  loves  went  out 
With   the    laft   brocade.      'T  is   not   the 

fame, 
I  find,  with  Mrs.  Frederick  Graham  ! 
I  muft  not  have  her  flopping  here 
More  than  a  fortnight  once  a  year. 
My  hufband  fays  he  never  faw 
Such  proof  of  what  he  holds  for  law, 
That  beauty  is  love  which  can  be  feen. 
Whatever  he  by  this  may  mean. 
Were  it  not  fearful  if  he  fell 
In  love  with  her  on  principle  ! 


I 


Honor ia  Vaughan  to  Dr.  Churchill.   1 99 

Felix  has  fpoken  only  twice  : 
Once  on  Savoy,  and  once  on  this 
Shameful  Reform  Bill ;  and  on  each 
He  made  a  moft  fuccefsful  fpeech  ; 
And  both  times  I,  of  courfe,  was  there 
And  heard  him  cheer'd.     But,  (how  un- 
fair !) 
Whenever,  wifhing  to  explain 
His  meaning,  he  got  up  again. 
They  call'd  out  "Order,"  and  "  Oh,  oh  !" 
He  abufed  the  Newfpapers,  and  io 
The  "Times"  left  out  the  cries  of  "Hear." 
The  very  Oppofition  cheer 
Dear  Felix  ;  and  at  what  he  faid 
The  Arch-Radical  turn'd  white  and  red. 
I  faw  him  with  my  opera-glafs. 
Yet  they  allow'd  the  law  to  pafs 
The  fecond  reading.     Should  this  cheat 
Succeed  next  fpring,  we  lofe  our  feat ! 
Nor  fhall  I  grieve.     The  wifeft  fay 


200  Rachel. 

There's  near  at  hand  an  evil  day; 

And,  though,  if  FeUx  chofe  to  ftir,  m 

I  am  fure  he  might  be  Minifter, 

I  tell  him,  they  ferve  England  moft 

Who  keep,  at  whatfoever  cofi:. 

Their  honour ;   and,  when  bell:  and  firft      m 

Have  flung  their  ftrength  to  laft  and  worft, 

And  ruling  means,  from  hour  to  hour 

Cajoling  thofe  who  have  the  power, 

A  gentleman  fliould  flay  at  home, 

And  let  his  rulers  fometimes  come 

And  bluHi  at  his  high  privacy. 

Felix,  I  know,  agrees  with  me. 

Although  he  calls  me, "  Fierce  white  cat ! " 

And  fays,  't  is  not  yet  come  to  that. 

Yefterday,  he  and  I  fell  out ; 
Can  you  believe  it  ?     'T  was  about 
The  cofl:  at  which  he  fays  I  drelT'd  | 

Lafl:  fcafon.      /  came  off  the  bcfl ; 
And  you,  Papa,  by  both  Ihuul  talk'd 


Honor ia  Vaughan  to  Dr.  Churchill.  201 

Inftead,  as  you  fhall  learn  :  I  afk'd. 
Would  he,  at  one  houfe,  think  it  nice 
To  fee  me  in  the  fame  drefs  twice  ? 
Of  courfe  he  kiff'd  me,  and  faid,  "  No  !  " 
And  then  I  proved,  he  made  me  go 
To  Lady  Lidderdale's  three  fetes 
And  both  her  dances  !     Magijlrates 
Ought  to  know  better  than  to  try 
A  charge  difmiff'd  ;  and  he  and  I 
Had  talk'd  this  over  once  before  ! 
Forgiv'n,  he  vow'd  to  offend  no  more. 
But,  oh,  he  actually  fays 
Tou  caution'd  him  againjft  my  ways  : 
We  both  are  fhock'd  Papa  could  be 
So  cruel  and  unfatherly ! 


1 


y. 


FREDERICK   TO   HIS   MOTHER. 


f 


FREDERICK  TO   HIS  MOTHER. 

/^OULD  any,  whilft  there's  any  woe, 
Be   wholly    bleft,    the    Vaughans 
were  fo  ! 
Each  is,  and  is  aware  of  it, 
The  other's  endlefs  benefit ; 
But,  though  their  daily  ways  reveal 
The  depth  of  private  joy  they  feel, 
'T  is  not  their  bearing  each  to  each 
That  does  abroad  their  fecret  preach. 
But  fuch  a  lovely  good-intent 
To  all  within  their  government 
And  friendfliip,  as,  't  is  well  difcern'd. 
Each  of  the  other  mufl  have  learn'd  ; 


2o6  Rachel. 

For  no  mere  faith  of  neighbourhood 
Ever  begot  fo  fair  a  mood. 

Honoria,  made  more  dove-like  mild 
With  added  loves  of  lord  and  child. 
Is  elfe  unalter'd.     Years,  that  wrong 
The  reft,  touch  not  her  beauty,  young 
With    youth    that     feems     her    natal 

clime. 
And  no  way  relative  to  time. 
All  in  her  prefence  generous  grow. 
As  in  the  funihine  flowers  blow  ; 
As  colours,  each  fuperb  to  fight, 
When  all  combined  are  only  light. 
Her  many  noble  virtues  mifs 
Proud  virtue's  blazon,  and  are  blifs ; 
The  ftandards  of  the  depth  are  furl'd  ; 
The     powers    and     pleafures    of    the 

world 
Pay  tribute  ;   and  her  days  are  all 
So  high,  pure,  fweet,  and  practical, 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  207 

She  almoft  feems  to  have,  at  home, 
What's  promifed  of  the  life  to  come. 

And  fair,  in  fad:,  fhould  be  the  few 
God  dowers  with  nothing  elfe  to  do  ; 
And  Hberal  of  their  Ught,  and  free 
To  fhow  themfelves,  that  all  may  fee  ! 
For  alms  let  poor  men  poorly  give 
The  meat  whereby  men's  bodies  live ; 
But  they  of  wealth  are  ftewards  wife 
Whofe  graces  are  their  charities. 

The  funny  charm  about  this  home 
Makes  all  to  fhine  who  thither  come. 
My  own  dear  Jane  has  caught  its  grace. 
And  does  an  honour  to  the  place. 
Acrofs  the  lawn  I  lately  walk'd 
Alone,  and  watch'd  where  moved  and 

talk'd. 
Gentle  and  goddefs-like  of  air, 
Honoria  and  fome  ftranger  fair. 
I  chofe  a  path  away  from  thefe  ; 


2o8  Rachel. 

When  one  of  the  two  GoddefTes, 
With  my  wife's  voice,  but  fofter,  faid, 
"  Will    you    not    walk    with    us,    dear 
Fred  ?  " 
She  moves,  indeed,  the  model!:  peer 
Of  all  the  proudeft  ladies  here. 
'T  is  wonderful  flie  fliould  not  be 
Put  out  by  fuch  fine  company. 
We  daily  dine  with  men  who  ftand 
Among  the  leaders  of  the  land. 
And  women  beautiful  and  wife. 
With  England's  greatnefs  in  their  eyes. 
To  high,  traditional  good-fenfe. 
And  knowledge  vafl:  without  pretence. 
And  human  truth  cxacftly  hit 
By  quiet  and  conclufive  wit, 
Liftens  my  little,  homely  dove, 
Miftakes  the  points,  and  laughs  for  love. 
You  (liould  have  (co^n  the  vain  delight, 
After  we  went  upftairs  laft  night. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  209 

With  which  ihe  flood  and  comb'd  her 

hair. 
And  call'd  me  much  the  wittieft  there  ! 

With  recklefs  loyalty,  dear  Wife, 
She  lays  herfelf  about  my  life  ! 
The  joy  I  might  have  had  of  yore 
I  have  not ;  for  't  is  now  no  more. 
With  me,  the  lyric  time  of  youth. 
And  glad  fenfation  of  the  truth  ; 
Yet,  beyond  hope  or  purpofe  bleft. 
In  my  rafh  choice,  let  be  confefT'd 
The  tenderer  Providence  that  rules 
The  fates  of  children  and  of  fools  ! 

I  kilT'd  the  kind,  warm  neck  that  flept. 
And  from  her  fide  this  morning  ftepp'd. 
To  bathe  my  brain  from  drowfy  night 
In  the  fharp  air  and  golden  light. 
The  dew,  like  froft,  was  on  the  pane. 
The  year  begins,  though  fair,  to  wane. 
There  is  a  fragrance  in  its  breath 
14 


21  o  Rachel. 

Which  is  not  of  the  flowers,  but  death. 
And  green  above  the  ground  appear 
The  Hlies  of  another  year. 
I  wandered  forth,  and  took  my  path 
Among  the  bloomlefs  aftermath  ; 
And  heard  the  fteadfafi:  robin  fmg. 
As  if  his  own  warm  heart  were  fpring. 
And  watch'd  him  feed  where,  on  the  yew. 
Hung  fugar'd  drops  of  crimfon  dew  ; 
And  then  return'd,  by  walls  of  peach 
And  pear-trees  bending  to  my  reach. 
And  rofe-buds  with  the  rofes  gone. 
To  bright-laid  breakfaft.     Mrs.  Vaughan 
Was  there,  none  with  her.      I  confefs 
I  love  her  rather  more  than  lefs  ! 
But  rtie  alone  was  loved  of  old  ; 
Now  love  is  twain,  nay,  manifold  ; 
For,  fomehow,  he  whofe  daily  life 
Adjufts  itfelf  to  one  true  wife. 
Grows  to  a  nuptial,  near  degree 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  2 1 1 

With  all  that's  fair  and  womanly. 
Therefore,  as  more  than  friends,  we  met 
Without  confhraint,  without  regret ; 
The  wedded  yoke  that  each  had  donn'd 
Seeming  a  fand;ion,  not  a  bond. 


VI. 

'    MRS.   GRAHAM   TO   FREDERICK. 


MRS.  GRAHAM  TO  FREDERICK. 

\    MAN'S  tafkmafters  are  enough  ! 

Add    not    yourfelf    to     the    hoft 
thereof. 
This  did  you  ever  from  the  iirft. 
As  now,  in  venturing  to  the  Hurft. 
You  won,  my  child,  from  weak  furprife, 
A  vigour  to  be  doubly  wife 
In  wedlock' :  with  fuccefs,  then,  ceafe, 
Nor  rifk  the  triumph  and  the  peace. 
'T  is  not  pure  faith  that  hazards  even 
The  adulterous  hope  of  change  in  heaven. 

Your  love  lacks  joy,  your  letter  fays. 
Yes ;  love  requires  the  focal  fpace 


2 1 6  Rachel, 

Of  recolled:ion,  or  of  hope, 

Ere  it  can  meafure  its  own  fcope. 

Too    ioon,    too    foon,   comes    Death    to 

fliow 
We  love  more  deeply  than  we  know  ! 
The  rain,  that  fell  upon  the  height 
Too  gently  to  be  call'd  delight, 
Within  the  dark  vale  reappears. 
As  a  wild  catarad:  of  tears  ; 
And  love  in  life  fliould  try  to  fee 
Sometimes  what  love  in  death  would  be ! 
(Ealier  to  love,  we  fo  fliould  find, 
It  is,  than  to  be  jull:  and  kind  !) 

She's  cold.     Put  to  the  coffin-lid. 
What  diftance  for  another  did. 
That  death  has  done  for  her  !     The  good, 
Once  gazed  upon  with  heedlefs  mood. 
Now  fills  with  tears  the  familli'd  eye. 
And  turns  all  clfe  to  vanity. 
'T  is  fad  to  fee,  with  death  between. 


Mrs.  Graham  to  Frederick.       217 

The  good  we  have  palT'd,  and  have  not 

feen  ! 
How  ftrong  appear  the  words  of  all ! 
The  looks  of  thofe  that  live  appall. 
They  are  the  ghofts,  and  check  the  breath ; 
There's  no  reality  but  death. 
And  hunger  for  fome  fignal  given 
That  we  fhall  have  our  own  in  heaven  ! 
But  this  the  God  of  love  lets  be 
A  horrible  uncertainty. 

How  great  her  fmalleft  virtue  feems. 
How  fmall  her  greateft  fault !     Ill  dreams 
Were  thofe  that  foil'd  with  loftier  grace 
The  homely  kindnefs  of  her  face. 
'T  was  here  fhe  fat  and  work'd,  and  there 
She  comb'd  and  kilT'd  the  children's  hair; 
Or,  with  one  baby  at  her  breall. 
Another  taught,  or  hufli'd  to  reft. 
Praife  does  the  heart  no  more  refufe 
To  the  divinity  of  ufe. 


2 1 8  Rachel. 

Her  humbleft  good  is  hence  moft  high 
In  the  heavens  of  fond  memory  ; 
And  love  fays  Amen  to  the  word, 
A  prudent  wife  is  from  the  Lord. 
Her  worft  gown 's  kept,  ('t  is  now  the  heft, 
And  that  in  which  flie  ofteneft  dreiT'd,) 
For  memory's  fake  more  precious  grown 
Than  flie  herfelf  was  for  her  own. 
Poor  wife  !  fooHfli  it  feem'd  to  fly 
To  fobs  inflead  of  dignity, 
When  file  was  hurt.    Now,  more  than  all, 
Heart-rending  and  angelical 
That  ignorance  of  what  to  do, 
Bewilder'd  ftill  by  wrong  from  you. 
(For  what  man  ever  yet  had  grace 
Ne'er  to  abufe  his  power  and  place  ?) 

No  magic  of  her  voice  or  fmile 
Raifed  in  a  trice  a  fairy  ifle. 
But  fondnefs  for  her  underwent 
An  unregarded  increment. 


Mrs.  Graham  to  Frederick.        2.i(^ 

Like  that  which  lifts,  through  centuries, 
The  coral  reef  within  the  feas. 
Till,  lo  !  the  land  where  was  the  wave. 
Alas  !  't  is  everywhere  her  grave. 


I 


VII 


FREDERICK   TO    HIS    MOTHER. 


FREDERICK   TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

\  T    Jane's    defire,    left    High-Hurft 
^^       Park 

Should  make  our  cottage  cold  and  dark, 
After  three  weeks  we  came  away 
To  fpend  at  home  our  Wedding-Day. 
Twelve  wedding-days  gone  by,  and  none 
Yet  kept,  to  keep  them  all  in  one, 
She  and  myfelf,  (with  John  and  Grace 
On  donkeys,)  vifited  the  place 
I  firft  drew  breath  in,  Knatchley  Wood. 
Bearing  the  baiket,  ftuff'd  with  food. 
Milk,  loaves,  hard  eggs,  and  marmalade, 
I  halted  where  the  wandering  glade 


224  Rachel. 

Divides  the  thicket.     There  I  knew, 
It  feem'd,  the  very  drops  of  dew 
Below  the  unalter'd  eglantine. 
Nothing  had  changed  fince  I  was  nine ! 

In  the  green  defert,  down  to  eat 
We  fat,  our  ruftic  grace  at  meat 
Good  appetite,  through  that  long  climb 
Hungry  two  hours  before  the  time. 
And  there  Jane  took  her  ftitching  out. 
And  John  for  birds'  nefts  look'd  about, 
And  Grace  and  Baby,  in  between 
The  warm  blades  of  the  breathing  green. 
Dodged  grafshoppers  ;  and  I  no  lefs, 
In  confcientious  idlenefs, 
Enjoy'd  myfelf,  under  the  noon 
Stretch'd,  and  the  founds  and  fights  of  June 
Receiving,  with  a  drowfy  charm. 
Through  muffled  ear  and  folded  arm. 

And  then,  as  if  I  fweetly  dream'd, 
I  half  remember'd  how  it  feem'd 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  225 

When  I,  too,  was  a  little  child 

About  the  wild  wood  roving  wild. 

Pure  breezes  from  the  far-off  height 

Melted  the  blindnefs  from  my  fight, 

Until,  with  rapture,  grief,  and  awe, 

I  faw  again  as  then  I  faw. 

As  then  I  faw,  I  faw  again 

The  harveft  wagon  in  the  lane, 

With  high-hung  tokens  of  its  pride 

Left  in  the  elms  on  either  fide  ; 

The  daifies  coming  out  at  dawn 

In  conftellations  on  the  lawn  ; 

The  glory  of  the  daffodil ; 

The  three  black  windmills  on  the  hill, 

Whofe  magic  arms,  flung  wildly  by. 

Sent  magic  fhadows  paft  the  rye. 

Within  the  leafy  coppice,  lo. 

More  wealth  than  mifers'  dreams  could 

fhow. 
The  blackbird's  warm  and  woolly  brood, 
15 


2  26  Rachel. 

Five  golden  beaks  agape  for  food  ; 
The  Gypfies,  all  the  fummer  feen 
Native  as  poppies  to  the  Green  ; 
The  winter,  with  its  frofts  and  thaws 
And  opulence  of  hips  and  haws  ; 
The  lovely  marvel  of  the  fnow  ; 
The  Tamar,  with  its  altering  fliow 
Of  gay  fliips  failing  up  and  down, 
Among  the  fields  and  by  the  Town. 
And,  dearer  fir  than  anything, 
Came  back  the  fongs  you  ufed  to  fing. 
(Ah,  might  you  fing  fuch  fongs  again. 
And  I,  your  child,  but  hear  as  then. 
With  confcious  profit  of  the  gulf 
Flown  over  from  my  prefent  felf !) 
And,  as  to  men's  retreating  eyes. 
Beyond  higli  mountains  higher  rife. 
Still  farther  back  there  llione  to  me 
The  dazzling  dulk  of  infancy. 
Thither  I  look'd,  as,  fick  of  night. 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  227 

The  Alpine  fhepherd  looks  to  the  height. 
And  does  not  fee  the  day,  't  is  true. 
But  fees  the  rofy  tops  that  do. 

Meantime    Jane    ftitch'd,    and    fann'd 
the  flies 
From  my  repofe,  with  hufli'd  replies 
To  Grace,  and  fmiles  when  Baby  fell. 
Her  countenance  love  viiible 
Appear'd,  love  audible  her  voice. 
Why  in  the  paft  alone  rejoice, 
Whilft  here  was  wealth  before  me  caft 
Which,  as  you  fay,  if  't  were  but  pafl 
Were  then  moft  precious  !    Queftion  vain 
When  afk'd  again  and  yet  again, 
Year  after  year  ;  yet  now,  for  no 
Caufe,   but   that    heaven's    bright   winds 

will  blow 
Not  at  our  beck,  but  as  they  lift, 
It  brought  that  diftant,  golden  mift 
To  grace  the  hour,  firing  the  deep 


228  Rachel. 

Of  fpirit  and  the  drowfy  keep 
Of  joy,  till,  fpreading  uncontain'd, 
The  holy  power  of  feeing  gain'd 
The  outward  eye,  this  owning  even, 
That  where  there's  love  and  truth  there's 
heaven. 

Debtor  to  few,  far-feparate  hours 
Like  this,  that  truths  for  me  are  powers, 
(Ah,  happy  hours,  't  is  fomething  yet 
Not  to  forget  that  I  forget  !) 
I  know  their  worth,  and  this,  the  chief, 
I  count  not  vain  becaufe  't  was  brief. 

And  now  a  cloud,  bright,  huge,  and 
calm, 
Rofe,  doubtful  if  for  bale  or  balm  ; 
O'ertoppling  crags,  portentous  towers 
Appear'd  at  beck  of  viewlefs  powers 
Along  a  rifted  mountain  range. 
Untraceable  and  fwift  in  change, 
Thofe  glittering  peaks,  difrupted,  fpread 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  229 

To  folemn  bulks,  feen  overhead  ; 

The  funfhine  quench'd,  from  one  dark 

form 
Fumed  the  appaUing  Hght  of  ftorm. 
Straight  to  the  zenith,  black  with  bale. 
The  Gypfies'  fmoke  rofe  deadly  pale  ; 
And  one  wide  night  of  hopelefs  hue 
Hid  from  the  heart  the  recent  blue. 
And  foon,  with  thunder  crackling  loud, 
A  flafh  within  the  formlefs  cloud 
Show'd  vague  recefs,  projection  dim. 
Lone  failing  rack,  and  fhadowy  rim. 

We  flood  fafe  group'd  beneath  a  (hed. 
Grace  hid  behind  Jane's  gown  for  dread. 
Who  told  her,  fondling  with  her  hair, 
"  The  naughty  thunder,  God  took  care 
It  fhould  not  hurt  good  little  girls." 
At  this  Grace  re-arranged  her  curls  ; 
But  John,  difputing,  feem'd  to  me 
Too  much  for  Jane's  theology, 


230  Rachel. 

Who  bade  him  watch  the  tempeft.     Now 
A  blaft  made  all  the  woodland  bow ; 
Againft  the  whirl  of  leaves  and  duft 
Kine  dropp'd  their  heads  ;  the  tortured 

guft 
Jagg'd  and  convulfed  the  afcending  fmoke 
To  mockery  of  the  lightning's  ftroke. 
The  blood  prick'd,  and  a  blinding  flafli 
And  clofe,  co-inftantaneous  crafli 
Humbled  the  foul,  and  the  rain  all  round 
Refilient  dimm'd  the  whirling  ground, 
Nor  flagg'd  in  force  from  firft  to  laft. 
Till,  fudden  as  it  came,  't  was  paft. 
Leaving  a  trouble  in  the  copfe 
Of  brawling  birds  and  tinkling  drops. 
Change  beyond  hope  !      Far  thunder 

faint 
Mutter'd  its  vaft  and  vain  complaint, 
And  gaps  and  fra(5tures  fringed  with  light 
Show'd  the  fwcet  fkies,  with   fquadrons 

bright 


Frederick  to  his  Mother.  231 

Of  cloudlets  glittering  calm  and  fair 
Through  gulfs  of  calm  and  glittering  air. 

With  this  adventure,  we  return'd. 
The  roads  the  feet  no  longer  burn'd. 
A  wholefome  frhell  of  rainy  earth 
Refrefh'd  our  fpirits,  tired  of  mirth. 
The  donkey-boy  drew  friendly  near 
My  wife,  and,  touch'd  by  the  kind  cheer 
Her  countenance  fhow'd,  or  footh'd  per- 
chance 
By  the  foft  evening's  fad  advance. 
As  we  were,  ftroked  the  flanks  and  head 
Of  the  afs,  and,  fomewhat  thick-voiced, 

faid, 
"  To  'ave  to  wop  the  donkeys  fo 
'Ardens  the  'art,  but  they  won't  go 
Without !  "     My  wife,  by  this  imprefl"'d. 
As  men  judge  poets  by  their  beft. 
When  now  we  reach'd  the  welcome  door. 
Gave  him  his  hire,  and  lixpence  more. 


VIII. 


JANE   TO   MRS.    GRAHAM. 


JANE   TO   MRS.   GRAHAM. 

T^EAR  Mother,  I  juft  write  to  fay 
^"^    We  've  pafT'd  a  moft  delightful  day. 
As,  no  doubt,  you  have  heard  from  Fred. 
(Once,  you  may  recoiled:,  you  faid, 
True  friendship  neither  doubts  nor  doats, 
And  does  not  read  each  other's  notes  ; 
And  fo  we  never  do  !)     I'll  mifs. 
For  Fred's  impatient,  all  but  this  : 
We  fpent  —  the  children,  he,  and  I  — 
Our  wedding  anniverfary 
In  the  woods,  where,  while  I  tried  to  keep 
The  flies  off,  fo  that  he  might  lleep. 
He  adlually  kifT'd  my  foot, — 


236  Rachel. 

At  lealt,  the  beautiful  French  boot, 

Your  gift,  —  and,  laughing  with  no  caufe 

But  pleafure,  faid  I  really  was 

The  very  niceft  little  wife  ; 

And  that  he  prized  me  more  than  life. 

When  Fred  once  fays  a  thing,  you  know. 

You  feel  fo  lure  it  muft  be  fo. 

It's  almoft  dreadful  !     Then  on  love. 

And  marriage,  and  the  world  above, 

We  talk'd ;  for,  though  we  feldom  name 

Religion,  both  now  think  the  fame. 

O  Mother,  what  a  bar's  removed 

To  loving  and  to  being  loved  ! 

For  no  agreement  really  is 

In  anything  when  none's  in  this. 

Why,  once,  if  dear,  dear  Frederick  prefT'd 

His  wife  againft  his  hearty  breaft, 

The  interior  difference  feem'd  to  tear 

My  own,  until  I  could  not  bear 

The  trouble.     Oh  !   that  dreadful  ftrife, 


'Jane  to  Mrs.  Graham.  237 

It  ihow'd  indeed  that  faith  is  life. 
Fred  never  felt  this.     If  he  did, 
I  'm  fure  it  could  not  have  been  hid  ; 
For  wives,  I  need  not  fay  to  you. 
Can  feel  juft  what  their  hufbands  do. 
Without  a  word  or  look.     But  then 
It  is  not  fo,  you  know,  with  men. 

And  now  I  '11  tell  you  how  he  talk'd. 
While  in  the  Wood  we  fat  or  walk'd. 
He  told  me  that  "  The  Sadducees 
Inquired  not  of  true  marriages 
When  they  provoked  that  dark  reply. 
Which  now  cofts  love  fo  many  a  figh. 
In  vain  would  Chrijfl  have  taught  fuch 

clods 
That  Casfar's  things  are  alfo  God's !  " 
I  can't  quite  think  that  happy  thought. 
It  feems  fo  novel,  does  it  not  ? 
Fred  only  means  to  fay,  you  know, 
It  may,  for  aught  we  are  told,  be  fo. 


238  Rachel. 

He  thinks  that  joy  is  never  higher 
Than  when  love  worfliips  its  defire 
Far  off.     His  words  were  :  "After  all, 
Hope's  mere  reverfal  may  befall 
The  partners  of  His  glories  who 
Daily  is  crucified  anew : 
Splendid  privations,  martyrdoms 
To  which  no  weak  remilTion  comes. 
Perpetual  paiTion  for  the  good 
Of  them  that  feel  no  gratitude. 
Far  circlings,  as  of  planets'  fires. 
Round  never  to  be  reach'd  defires. 
Whatever  rapturoufly  fighs 
That  life  is  love,  love  facrifice." 
And  then,  as  if  he  fpoke  aloud 
To  fome  one  looking  from  a  cloud, 
"  All  I  am  fure  of  heaven  is  this, 
Howe'er  the  mode,  I  fliall  not  mifs 
One  true  delight  which  I  have  known. 
Not  on  the  changeful  earth  alone 


yane  to  Mrs.  Graham.  239 

Shall  loyalty  remain  unmoved 
T'wards  everything  I  ever  loved. 
So  Heaven's  voice  calls,  like  Rachel's  voice 
To  Jacob  in  the  field,  *  Rejoice  ! 
Serve  on  fome  feven  more  fordid  years, 
Too  fhort  for  wearinefs  or  tears  ; 
Serve  on  ;  then,  O  Beloved,  well-tried, 
Take  me  forever  for  thy  bride  ! '  " 

You  fee,  though  Frederick  fometimes 
{hocks 
One's  old  ideas,  he's  orthodox. 
Was  it  not  kind  to  talk  to  me 
So  really  confidentially  ? 

Soon  filent,  as  before,  he  lay. 
But  I  felt  giddy  all  the  day. 
And  now  my  head  aches ;  fo  farewell ! 

Pojifcript.  —  I  've  one  thing  more  to 
tell: 
Fred 's  teaching  Johnny  algebra  ! 
The  rogue  already  treats  mamma 


240  Rachel. 

As  if  he  thought  her,  In  his  mind. 
Rather  filly,  but  very  kind. 
Is  not  that  nice  ?     It 's  fo  like  Fred  ! 
Good-bye  !   for  I  'ni  to  go  to  bed, 
Becaufe  I  'm  tired,  or  ought  to  be. 
That's  Frederick's  way  of  late.     You  fee 
He  really  loves  me  after  all. 
He's  growing  quite  tyrannical ! 


I 


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12       A  Lia  of  Books  Publilhed 


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Gaskell's  (Mrs.)  Ruth.     A  Novel.    8vo.    Paper.   38  cts. 
Guesses  at  Truth.     By  Two  Brothers.     1  vol.     r2iuo. 

$l-.50. 
Greenwood's  (F.  W.  P.)  Sermons  of  Consolation. 

IGmo.     Clotli,  SI. 00;  cloth,  pi  It  edpe,  S1.50; 
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««  History  OF  the  King's  Chapel,  Bos- 

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"  "  A  School  of  Life.    A  Story. 

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by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  1, 


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14       A  Li^  of  Books  Publillied 


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Cl.-tli.    Sl.2r,. 
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Phillips's   Elementary   Treatise   on   Mineralogy. 

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Prior's  Life  OF  Edmund  BiRKE.     2  vols.    l6mo.    Cloth. 

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16       A  Lia  of  Books  Publiflied, 

k 

Works    lately    Published. 

Faithful  Forever.  By  Coventry  Patmore,  Author  of 
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Over  the  Cliffs  :  A  Novel.  By  Charlotte  Chanter, 
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Poems  by  Rev.  Wm.  Croswell,  D.  D.     Editetl,  with  a 

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The  Life  of  Francis    Bacon.     Founded  on   Orifjinal 

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The  Like  and  Career  of  Ma.jor  Andre.     By  Win- 

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Sermons  Preached  ix   Harvard   Chai-el.     By  Rev. 

Dr.  Walker,  late  I're.«ident  of  Harvard  University. 
The  Co.mi'letk  Works  of  \Valter  Savage  Landor. 

Library  Edition.     Revised  and  Editeil  by  the  Author. 
Beauties  of  De  Quincey.     Selected  from  the  Writings 

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